


Pictures of You

by PockyCat15



Series: You're Filled With Kindness [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional characters to be added one chapter after their first appearance to prevent spoilers, Angst, Child Abuse Ch. 1, F/M, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Determination Timeline, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5489666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PockyCat15/pseuds/PockyCat15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sixth child to fall was deemed "Kindness," and she loved to cook. That's all anyone knows. It only makes sense, since the monster who knew her best ceased to exist.</p>
<p>This is the story of the soul green with life and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've Been Looking So Long

**Author's Note:**

> If only I'd thought of the right words, I could have held on to your heart  
> If only I'd thought of the right words, I wouldn't be breaking apart all my pictures of you
> 
> The Cure - Pictures of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * Last proofreading/edit: 4/17/2016

“C’mon, Carmie, just one more…”

A pair of sticky little hands drummed on the poorly-laminated counter, matched to the equally sticky face of a six-year old Christopher Beltran.

His chubby pink cheeks quivered as he tried to make a sad face at his big sister. Carmen Beltran, being 19 years old but having to stand on a stepstool to fully reach around the kitchen, made a clicking sound with her tongue and sealed the tupperware of sweet rice cakes.

“You already had _two_ , if Mom brings home dinner, you won't want to eat.” She cringed slightly at the thought of how that scene would play out _for a third time_.

Before the child could get on the stool and snatch the treats, Carmen put the tupperware over her head and onto the top shelf of the ice box behind them, wedging it between a dirty cardboard container of leftover Spanish paella (Mother's paella of course, Chris wouldn't eat anything with seafood if it was the last food on earth, and Carmen was rather wary of how she couldn't smell the difference between spoiled and unspoiled fish under all that oil and garlic) and a quickly rotting apple no one wanted to eat since it was the last one.

“No spoiling your appetite.” She said sternly, waggling her index finger left and right for emphasis as her brother scowled. Despite her strongest stern face, she couldn't help but burst into giggles. “No need to be so glum. You're cuter than a ladybug’s pinky toe, but no means no.” When she lifted him onto the top step of the stool so he could wash his hands-- “The water smells yucky!”-- Carmen caught notice of the time and froze. Mom would be back any moment from work. With a deep breath, she pulled her messy mass of black curls into a makeshift bun at the nape of her neck and checked her face in the mirror with a grimace.

As a child, she thought her dark skin was beautiful and rare, but to anyone else, it made her... well, that was a topic not to dwell on at the moment, even if her mother didn't hesitate to bring it up as if it were something Carmen could control. She wasn't exactly as dark as their Nigerian neighbors on the second floor of the complex, but she certainly was no Shirley Temple.

Carmen however, couldn't resent her mother. No, her mother scraped by on minimum wage to keep her children clothed and fed, and that was so much more than other children had during these times. If she wanted to smoke and loiter around speakeasies to get her gin, she had no place to judge.

 

“Go turn on the radio, okay?" Carmen kissed the top of Christopher’s soft little head and shooed him into the living room just as the latch of the front door clicked. Mother walked in calmly, a little too unsettlingly stiff and slow for it to be natural, and bolted the door shut.

The child could already tell when his mummy was not in the mood to read him the paper, and thus only acknowledged her arrival with a soft, “Hi, Mommy.” He stood on his toes and clicked the switch of the radio, filling the tense room with soft sounds of harps and slow-playing trumpets, accompanied by some woman's voice vocalizing over some lost love.

Carmen wrung her hands dry on her stained apron and smiled weakly at her mother, only to be met with a smack that made both children jump. Christopher ran over to their mother's bag and pulled the drawstring to peek inside, really an excuse to not see his sister cry. “Rations are out for the day.” Martha Beltran said in a voice far too raspy from smoking Malboros nonstop.

“Apparently Mr. Greenstein saw you buying a carton o’ eggs earlier and decided that we were well off enough to not need handouts.” She felt her teeth scrape against each other as she tightened her jaw for another strike.

“ _Are you leasing out that dirty hole to make a nickel, Carmie?_ ” Martha hissed.

Carmen stood her ground and held her cheek where her mother had struck her. They both knew that Carmen hadn't so much as spoken to a man, much less made whoopee with one. It was just the gin talking, the girl reasoned internally. “Chris, my love, go get ready for your bath.” She whispered in the most even tone she could muster.

That was the only allowance needed for Chris to make his escape into the next room. “The eggs are for tonight and tomorrow. Chrissy is turning seven and I wanted him to have rice and runny eggs how he likes.” Despite how strongly she said it, Carmen couldn't bear to meet Martha’s gaze.

“Okay.” Her calm down surprised the daughter, and Carmen looked up at her mom. Her expression was vacant, but it seemed better than her usual contempt. “Go. Go make your damn eggs, I'm going to take off my makeup.”

Martha strode over to the master bedroom within three strides, then slammed the door hard enough to make the photos on the walls tremble.

 

* * *

 

 

_Everything is okay._

 

_Tomorrow, we'll have a party for sweet Chrissy, and it'll be the cat’s pajamas, and Mother won't be around to make applesauce of it again._

 

_..._

 

_No, what a horrible thing to think, of course Mother can be there. Christopher loves his mother, and by extension, I love her._

_Tomorrow will be a good day._

 

The half-Spaniard girl focused on stirring the rice as she listened to Chris pretend to be a cowboy in the tub. “Yee-haw, giddy up little doggie!” He yelled with a splash. She knew the water had to be cold, but he got in anyways. Maybe tomorrow, they could go outside and draw with the white streaks the rocks made. Maybe if she asked around, surely someone would have some odd jobs for her to do where she could bring Christopher along.

There had to be some way to keep the pantry stocked besides waiting for rations.

After a half hour, the rice had boiled, and the eggs were frying. Carmen kept pushing a spatula underneath them to keep them from sticking, since that would be a horrible waste of food. Usually this was the time when Chris would run into the room screaming in excitement that they were having a hot dinner.

“Mother, Chrissy, dinner's nearly ready.” She called out.

 

 

_**But nobody came.** _

 

 

“Momma?” A few hesitant steps into the living room proved that no one had heard her.

 

The doors were open, but all she could hear was a faint swishing of water. “Chris, you're gonna catch cold.” She started to scold as she walked into the bathroom, but instead of seeing her brother, she stared at her mother's back.

 

“...Momma?”

 

Don't look.

 

Don't look.

 

Don't look.

 

Don't look!

 

Don't look!!

 

**DON'T LOOK**

  
Carmen took a step forward, and stared at her precious brother’s unblinking eyes from under the water.

  
“I just put him to bed.” Martha whispered with a smile. There was a bottle of gin at the base of the tub. Carmen forgot about dinner and swung the pan down with an anguished scream.

 

* * *

 

She wasn't sure how long she lay on the buttercups, but their pollen was making her skin itch in a painful way. The stars were barely visible through the cracks in the top of the cave. How long had she been here, and when had she run away? Her feet were still bare, and now they hurt with tiny pebbles and pine needles stabbing them. Whose blood was coating her apron and hands? Were the police looking for her? The image of her mother and brother in that room clouded her mind, and cruelly reminded her that she was alone again. Her grip tightened on the handle of the burnt pan as if it were her only lifeline and let the tears flow until she fell asleep. If this was to be her grave, so be it.

 

* * *

 

The grief-stricken girl didn't even feel the warm paws lift her aching body from the ground, nor hear the soft sound of someone whispering “Poor child… Oh, you poor, poor girl, what happened to you…”

 

_In your dreams, you had baked little Christopher a butterscotch cake that went higher than anyone could see, and he was so happy, retrieving every cowboy toy he could ever want from under the frosting._  


 

 

“Everything will be alright, my child.”


	2. At These P̼ͧ̈́͗͗̋͆̄͑̚͢i̜̘̻͇ͥͬ͋̂́cͫͪ͏̼̬̯̯t̵̛͇͍̬̝ͧ̀ū̩͔̜͛ͅr̪̞̿ͣ͟͡e̴̱̽͛͛̍̏s̱͇̯͍̯͍̰ͫ ̪̗̇̃͊͑͡o̭̍̈̀̐͐͂͌ͨ͝f̴̘̂ͯ̆̐̊̈̕ ͈̞͇̥͎̮̐̋́͠Y̨̻̭̠͎̗̦͑ͪ̀ö́̌҉̷̛̗̩͓̺̘͎̞̫ͅu̮̥̞͒ͦͣ̆̓͗̑̌́͢ ̷̤̠͙̦͍̒̃̄́͡ͅ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This did not go in the direction I intended, but I am still very happy with the results. I hope you guys are too!

* * *

_Cold, cold, the water was so cold. Chrissy, you're so cold, please, please wake up... Somebody, please help us... Please... The water was turning red, and Mother was slumped over the tub. Her lovely salt and pepper hair moved with the waves the water made as you tried to get Christopher completely out of the water. Who's screaming? Is that your voice? The small body in your arms was starting to turn blue, and as you moved to lay him down, a pair of rapidly decaying eyes met yours._  
  
__**_"I thought you loved me."_**

* * *

__

Carmen flailed in the unfamiliar bed, her voice hoarse as she tried to scream for help. A soft weight rested on her chest to keep her down long enough until she calmed down to realize that she wasn't in any danger. As her breathing evened out, she slowly came to the realization that this tangerine ceiling was not her own.

Her mind raced with endless questions as she jumped out of the small bed with a start. "Oh my." She turned on the ball of her heel to face the sound to be met with... "What..." Before her was a person... no, a creature, unlike anything she could even imagine. It... it looked like a goat, but it was sitting upright, and wearing _glasses!_ Carmen let out a shriek before stumbling backwards and falling back onto the floor. "Child, do not be afraid, you are not in any danger." The being cooed with a gentle smile. Carmen stood dumbstruck, her mouth hanging open. "You're... you're a goat..." She finally managed to say, though it was more to herself.

The creature covered its mouth with a white paw to keep from laughing. "No, dear, I'm afraid not." 

Carmen's bright green eyes finally met the being's own ruby eyes. "My name is Toriel, I am the caretaker of the Ruins. I found you collapsed in the garden, so I brought you here. I apologize if that has caused you distress, but it was for your safety." Toriel stood and took the human's hands in her own paws to lead her back to the bed while Carmen stared down at Toriel's paws in awe, and took note of the caked blood on her arms. After a few strained gulps, Carmen regained her composure and gave the paws a slight squeeze. "Thank you... for helping me..."

"You do not need to thank me, my child."

"A-and I apologize for my rude behavior..."

"You needn't apologize to me either, my child."

The two women stared at each other in awkwardly polite silence for a good two minutes before Carmen spoke again. 

"My name is Carmen." At this, Toriel perked. 

"What a lovely name! Is it the same spelling as Bizet's opera?"

"Yes! Y-you are familiar with his work?" 

"Oh no, my associate is enamored by the performing arts, I just listened to the opera to humor him..." Toriel trailed off as the sound of a gurgling stomach interrupted her. Carmen's freckled face reddened, and she opened her mouth to apologize as a furry finger signaled her to stop. "I actually called my associate over to examine you for injuries; he is a little more familiar with human anatomy than I am. I have a snail pie in the oven for when he arrives, so why don't we get you cleaned up? Can you walk?" The human girl gave a hesitant nod, this was all happening so quickly, and she was still trying to wrap her mind around the concept the creature speaking to her so sweetly. It reminded her of the kindness of the elderly sisters that read recipes on the morning radio. Christopher was going to want to listen to the morning show too, wasn't he? She'd have to go home soon to make sure he was alright.

Toriel led the dazed Carmen down the hall of what looked like a perfectly normal home. Having calmed down considerably, the human girl examined every little detail as they walked by. The decorative vases were a lovely black and gold pattern, and the way the gold leaves curled upwards reminded her of the upscale stores in the busier part of town that was once called Main Street, but had inexplicably been renamed to Marshall Road for some politician she had never heard of.

Thin plants stood perfectly straight in neat bushels with a thin gold ribbon tied around the bottom to hold them together. They looked so familiar, Carmen was sure she had known the name of this plant, but now it eluded her. Versus the clutters of cheap photograph frames to hide the apartment's various holes in the walls, the walls here were bare, and not a single cobweb decorated the ceiling.

"You are much older than the other children that have come this way, so you may not need my assistance..." 

At the end of the hall was a doorway on their left, and she opened it to usher the human inside. Carmen followed along, but stopped still when she saw the claw-footed tub against the wall. Her stomach went cold, and a ball formed in her throat. "My dear, what's wrong?" Toriel tried to call her attention back. 

All Carmen could feel was her sins crawling on her back.

* * *

_The faint sound of water swishing. ___

_Why didn't you notice when the splashing stopped?_

_The bottle of gin on its side._

_"I just put him to sleep."_

_A pair of arms riddled with rotting flesh._

_**"I thought you loved me."**_

* * *

"Aah.... Aaahh...!" The human's mouth opened and closed as they made that strangled cry, only staring ahead at the washroom.  
Toriel had seen this before, though it was strange to see it played through another person... The way her husband would try to console her whenever she passed by the garden and saw a shimmer of dust that had settled on the blossoms, and the way she'd wake up screaming, only to be thankful she had moved so far that no one would hear it. Only time had been able to numb her pain, but to see it through the girl made Toriel want to help, even if she didn't know what she wanted to comfort her from... A reassuring paw reached out to touch Carmen's shoulder, but instead of being comforting, the sensation only felt like her mother's hands reaching for her when-- 

" **AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!** " Carmen screamed as soon as Toriel's paw made contact, throwing her body against the wall behind her and crumpling down with her hands covering her face, her body shaking with every sob.  
Toriel backed against the opposite wall as soon as the girl screamed, flinching every time she made a sudden move. A grey heart materialized in front of her. No, no, no, Toriel should have been past this already, it had been years since the last panic attack. There was no enemy, she knew that, she needed to remember that! The child needed her, she needed to be strong for this girl... Be strong... After a few deep breaths, the heart disappeared. Despite the exhausting effort to get on her knees in her old age, she got down to pull Carmen into a tight embrace as the child repeated a half-coherent string of "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

* * *

The process wound up taking more than twice as long, but after Toriel guided Carmen (who had since become unresponsive to any communication, but moved when physically prompted) back to the room, she brought in a basin of warm water and three washcloths to scrub off the caked blood and dirt. If the human had heard the three raps at the front door, they made no indication to acknowledge it, nor Toriel trying to reassure her she would be right back. 

Awareness came back to her slowly.  
  
First came the feeling of the old carpet under her bare toes.  
  
"Gaster, as your queen, I am ordering you not to extract her soul."  
  
The walls of the room were the same tangerine as the ceiling, and the water in the shallow pail was a muddy red, along with the balled up pieces of cloth floating inside. Her skin looked orange from the reflection of all the warm colors in the room, and she lifted her clean hands to examine the color.  
  
"Word travels fast, your Majesty. How long will it be before others begin to notice you bringing home food for two? They can assume its a human, or that its another monster that's taken up residence with you, and _then_ the King will come looking for answers. Are you prepared for that kind of confrontation?"  
"Are you _threatening_ me?"  
  
Then there was the smell of something that wasn't exactly meat cooking. It was imbued with the smell of a buttery crust, which was beginning to brown a little too much. "Something's burning..." Carmen whispered, pushing herself up to her feet. The tickle of her hair as it fell around her face in loose curls made the corner of her lip twitch. Or was it the thought of cooking?  
  
The two monsters stood outside the door, allowing the human to shamble past without being seen. A fireplace crackled on her right as she navigated to the source of the smell. As she drew closer, she realized how unappetizing the smell was. The fire felt warm, and she considered sitting down in the recliner and falling asleep. Whatever that bad smell is, let it burn... No, that would be horribly rude to do in someone else's home. She continued.  
  
"You know that's not what I mean. The faster you cut your ties with this human, the easier it will be on you."  
  
"...I think you need to leave."  
  
"Your Majesty!"  
  
The door opened, and Carmen looked out dreamily at Toriel and the stranger as the shock slowly eased to a minimum. The stranger was... a skeleton... A skeleton in a human suit and open lab coat. Somehow, this didn't startle her at all. Her head tilted sideways and rested on the door frame, hiding her olive face under a few loose curls.  
  
"The pie was beginning to burn, so I put it out to cool... May we have lunch now?"  
  
Toriel gave the skeleton a warning glare before walking back towards her. "Of course, my child." In a colder tone, she added,  
  
"Gaster, won't you join us for lunch?"


	3. Snail Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a much lighter chapter, friends! I hope it fills you with kindness.  
> Reviews are always welcome! If you find any logical fallacies or other flaws/inconsistencies, let me know so I can adjust accordingly. Thank you!

* * *

"My, what a proper little lady you are!" Toriel commented in a half-teasing tone, though clearly impressed. The table in the living room had been decorated with place mats and perfectly folded napkins. The place mats, much to the human's dismay, retained an unsightly crease down the middle from having stayed folded for so long. The clay vase of cattails were gone from their sentry station at the table, now replaced with a hot pie tin on top of an oven mitt. Toriel glanced into the kitchen to find her vase settled on top of the refrigerator, to which she gave a soft hum of approval as she took her seat.

Gaster, on the other hand, was a little harder to impress, as he gave no discernible response to the human's setup. The white pinpricks of light remained fixed on the girl, taking in her pale face, and reddened eyes and lips. He made a mental a note to check her for dehydration. She had put this all together, indicating that she wasn't very lightheaded, and her lips didn't appear dry. He continued to stare at her, jumping between diagnoses in his mind before his train of thought was halted.  
  
"Wingdings."  
  
The skeleton straightened his back and looked over at Toriel, a light glow creeping up his spine as he realized he had been caught staring.  
  
"Please don't call me that."  
  
Toriel simply gave a knowing smile before waving down at the table.  
  
"Aren't you going to sit?"  
  
Being the Royal Scientist, Gaster would have much rather gotten on with the examination so he could get back to work. Never mind that there was a human in the Underground, and that word would eventually put both her and the Queen's life in danger, the skeleton really wanted no part of that. The girl looked to Toriel, then back at Gaster, who was debating on the best course of action.  
  
"...Shouldn't we determine if she's fit to eat monster food in her condition?" Toriel hid her growing smile with a paw to her muzzle. Carmen smiled slightly at the exchange. This seemed more akin to a mother scolding her son than a talk between a queen and a scientist. "I gave her some Snowdrake egg soup on her first day here. She'll be fine. Now, exactly how low are your reserves? _Please_ , relax for once and enjoy lunch."  
  
Gaster opened his jaw to try to make another excuse as to why he shouldn't, but knew a losing battle when he saw one. With a resigned sigh, he pulled the chair out and took his seat. The human let out a quiet giggle at Toriel's nagging, which earned her a wink from Toriel and a glare from the skeleton.

  
With the trio seated, Carmen lifted her fork and stared at the plate, trying her best to keep a bright face despite the snails in front of her.

Seeing how casually both Toriel and Dr. Gaster ate their slices, the girl lifted a forkful to her lips.  
  
. . .  
  
It would be horribly rude not to eat it, right?  
  
And this woman-- was she a woman?-- had been nothing but sweet to her.  
  
It would only be right to return the kindness, right?  
  
Carmen swallowed the piece whole, clenching her free hand into a fist under the table as the unchewed piece roughly made its way down. The aftertaste crept into her taste buds and the flavor registered.  
  
"It's... delicious!" Carmen excalimed in shock.  
  


At this, Toriel smiled, making no show of how the statement implied that the pie-- in all of its earthly smelling glory-- was expected to taste awful. "It's a special batch I make for humans. I can't give away the whole recipe, but I can tell you that a handful of butterscotch can make any dish heavenly." The human smiled and continued eating, though her gaze continually went back to the scientist. Though her knowledge of human anatomy was rather limited for her age, she knew well enough that there was no bone past her jawline, and that all bones were white. Yet while she watched him, neatly cut pieces of pie seemed to disappear between his teeth. She tilted her head slightly down in an attempt to see under his 'chin', and found no visible trace of the food. Theoretically, the gaps between all the bones should have given her a direct view of the room behind him, yet she couldn't even see through his metacarpals. Was it shadows playing tricks on her? It wasn't until Gaster spoke that she realized he'd caught her staring.  
  
"Is there a problem, human?" He said it so coldly that Carmen couldn't help but wince and look down at her plate.  
  
"No! No, I'm sorry... It's... just..."

  
The next words escaped her before she could hold her tongue.  
  
"You're very interesting; you're a skeleton, yet you can blink and move your mouth, and-and I am unable to see through your bones, and--" She felt her face heating up. "And i-it gives me the heebie-jeebies, but at the same time..." The expression on Gaster's face was indescribable, was he mad? "I think it's the cats' pajamas... I'm sorry."  
  
A soft glow of bright green light crept its way up from the skeleton's spine to his cheekbones, and Toriel leaned in slightly to scold her.  
  
"My child, please do not discuss monster anatomy at the table, it's very rude."

  
"I-I didn't mean it as an insult, I-I-I..." Carmen's stuttering was cut off when Gaster put a hand up. "It's alright." He said simply, his eyes fixed on his plate. "Thank you." He said it so quietly that the human almost didn't catch it. Her face lit up with a grin, though she wasn't sure what he was thanking her for, and she nodded in response, taking another bite of snail pie. It was such a foreign feeling, having company to eat with, and to actually be full for the first time since the hard times began. It filled her with a feeling that was pleasantly warm.  
  
"...Wait, how is my structure comparable to clothing for felines?"


	4. Almost Believe That They're Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add more to this chapter, but it seems as though the text effects make input too slow now.   
> Apologies if this seems unfinished!

* * *

 

The longer Carmen stared at the ceiling, the more she thought about how she had mistakenly thought that the color of the room was tangerine.

Really, it was more like a soft orange creamsicle, like the ones Mother would get her would get her after school, while Chrissy fussed around in the pram. If the lights were off, it could really be compared to the color of uncooked egg yolks.

Oh, she could die for some hard-boiled eggs...

"You _need_ to _move_ your arms." Gaster enunciated each word while talking to Carmen, bringing her out of her thoughts and back to their horribly uncomfortable situation.

The light coming from his fingertips illuminated his face, highlighting every ridge in his skull and giving him an ominous look.

Despite his seeming lack of facial features, his eyes had somehow drooped and were fixed in a scowl at her.

"Absolutely not! I know you're a doctor, but I feel fine, and I really don't want to expose myself and... and... I know you don't need to look here-- because you don't have to look!" Carmen stumbled over her words, pressing her arms closer to her chest with a pout as she rolled onto her side, eliciting a gasp from the two monsters. Along her stomach and back were bruises of varying degree and age, though none seemed severe enough to damage anything other than muscle tissue. The 'check-up', as Toriel called it, had consisted of exchanges of similar caliber for the last ten minutes now. Gaster lifted his examining hand passively to let her roll over, then used his free hand to move her hair up and out of his way. Though she nor Toriel could see it, the pinpricks of light in his eyes disappeared as he examined the injuries along her back. She didn't have to look back to know he was looking at the bruises; she opted not to speak first.

"Seeing your... 'tootsie rolls,' as you called them, is not that big of a deal. I just need to make sure your SOUL is in stable condition." The Royal Scientist once again turned to Toriel, who only greeted him with a shrug. It seemed as she was lost as he was with this. The humanoid monsters had long already accepted as fact that since breast tissue was only a secondary reproductive characteristic, there was really no need to treat them so privately how humans would; naturally, the scientist found Carmen's behavior completely childish, if not primitive.

Gaster let out an exaggerated sigh, despite his lack of lungs, and a few strings of symbols materialized behind him in green magic. Toriel, who was already familiar with Gaster's unusual ability, read the symbols and gave him a harsh glare. "Absolutely not." The Queen stated coldly. Turning back to the human, he pondered tricking her to let go of her chest so he could pull out the SOUL himself for examination, even though the stress of it might cause her to attack... Not that she had shown any violent tendency, but of course, no human ever did.

He opted not to, and allowed the glassy green lights in his right hand to fade back into his reserves, sitting back.

"You have internal bleeding in your liver, and a hairline fracture in your pelvis."

He paused, waiting for some kind of reaction from the human.

"Seeing how you just rolled away from me without experiencing severe pain, your body must either still be in shock, or the damage of the fall also traumatized your nociceptors."

Silence.

"If the bleeding isn't addressed, you could be dead anywhere between a few minutes to a few days."

At that, Gaster heard a shuddering intake of breath, followed by the quiet shaking breaths he recognized as an attempt to keep from crying. Toriel motioned for him to stop, but an unpleasant emotion prompted him to continue. 

"Of course, your death would work in everyone's best interest, given that you're not even welcome here, but if you-- for some reason beyond me-- would like to live, I need to access your SOUL."

An amber light and a flush of warmth struck Gaster in the back, and he spun to face a furious Toriel, her arm outstretched and covered in a layer of fire.

"How dare you say that to the poor child! You do not know what this girl has been through, and she is MORE than welcome in the Ruins--"

Gaster's patience ran out. Despite his clear anger, his speech was frighteningly calm, though laced with venom.

"Then why did you bring me here, Your Majesty? Have you forgotten what humans have taken away from us? We are only _two_ souls away from freedom, and yet you're still commandeering fallen humans like they have done nothing wrong. Did you think if she put on this act, then suddenly all those murders would be okay?"

"Please stop." Carmen spoke quietly, but firmly enough to catch both monsters' attention.

By some long forgotten instinct, Carmen hazily focused her thoughts on an intangible feeling that made the muscles in her chest pulse in an unfamilar way, and made a pulling motion with one of her hands until a heart emerged from where her sternum would be. Toriel clasped a paw over her muzzle in horror as the human pulled her arm back so the Royal Scientist could hold it. "Just take it. I'm...tired..." She trailed off, letting her arm fall back into place.

Gaster was also horrified, but for a much different reason. He knew Toriel had never really seen a human soul; she had always remained in the ruins when the other humans were extracted. He let the precious object fall into the crade of his right hand's phalanges, using his left hand to examine it.

A human's soul was supposed to be vivid. Other human souls radiated their own magnificent color, usually at intensities that lit up the room. The heart he cradled gave off no light, and had to be held to the light to distinguish that it was indeed a faded green human soul, and not a grey monster's soul. The orbs of light in his eyes fluttered between Toriel and the human before back down at the damaged soul in his hand. With a few flickers of magic, a few hairline cracks in the structure mended seamlessly, and the darker patches lightened.

"What are you doing?" Toriel asked, taking a step forward. At the same time, she shook her arm out to extinguish the flames.

"I can't." He muttered simply, continuing to mend the external injuries. The defeated color of her soul didn't change. Without another comment, Gaster kneeled on the floor next to Carmen and pressed the SOUL against her back until it phased back into her body.

The human gave no response, her expression dazed as she stared at the wall.

"...That was a very cruel thing I said to you, and I apologize for that." He said with what he hoped was a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hey..." The doctor shook her slightly when she didn't respond. A few stray tears rolled off the bridge of her nose and onto the sheets.

His fingers lit again and he touched the spot where her SOUL had been reabsorbed.

m͎̹̹̳̕͜͡u̶̶͎̗̜̪̹̗̩͚̘͉̩̱̞r͏̴̱̩̖͟͡͞ͅd̨̺̞͚̮̜̯̩̣̘͙̥̰̗̜̮̕͢͢ͅͅe̡̢̫̰͎̭̩̲̺̯̪̰̜̻͉̙͚̪̘͘͡ͅr̶̢͉͚̤͜͜͢è͏̲̜͖̰̱͔̘̰̗͉̦̮͎͠ͅͅr̴̝̝͈̹̬̯̮̯͎͕̖ ͏͎͖̥̥̜̰͉̪̭̲̹̹͓ḿ̧̙̮̻̖̥͉͉̬̹̯́u҉͙͉͉͇̥̭̕ŕ̴̳̺̗̭̫̥̹͇̗̘̗͡͝ͅd̷̥͉͙̼̖̬̫͠e̵͕̰̪͉̠̳̥͇͖͕̱̠̕r̴̵̖̙̙̻͕̣̪̭͈̗̜̝̖̩̗̝̩͎̀͘̕e̵̛̼̤̮͎̮̪̞̞̮͖̘̮̰̩̳r̸̵̪̭̹̠͚̲̙͓̤̯̦͙͡ ̴̟͚̜̩͇̣͍̺̹̹̺̫͠ͅͅm͔̬̯̰͓̖̦̞̜̥͇͕͓͟͝ͅù̸̢҉̴͙̯̮͈̗̮͇̦̙̰̘̙̰̘͚͉͇̜̣r͏̧͎͈͕̫͇d̸̪̝͙̪̹̞͡e̟̙̩̹͕̠͇̥͔͚̣̩̼̠̙̘͟͞r̨̜̘̖͕͖͔̥̱̪͓͖̳͠͠é̖̲͚̩̭̦̬͇͜͜ŕ͎̣͎̺̥̦͢ͅͅ ̸̡̬̟̳̭̱̬̥̠̩̻͎̤́́͞m̢̳̣͇͕̦̼͖͕̼̬͇̕͜͡u̶̧͍͓̞̺͇̜͎̜̠̣̲͟͠r̸̰̪̗̘̠͔͇̯̝͘͝d̲̯͇͖́́͜ͅe̪̲͇͕̱͢͢͢͡ͅr̶̢̨̻͚̱̜̕͠ȩ̷̨̧̩̫̻̗͈͉͙͇̥͝r̷͏̶̫̮̼̱͎̝̗̤̖͓̳̲̭̞ͅ ̶̧̰̬̲̘͉̭͍̫͎͔̻̪̫͉m͠͏̮̜̯̩̳͡u̶̡͏̖̪̠̝̰̘̮̜ŕ̸̴̡͏̖͎̰̯̱̪͈̝͈̤͙̬͓̱̤͈̻͔̤d̷̢̳̩̘e̷͎̲͔͢͡ͅr̶̢̧͇̹̼͙̜̭̲̪̼̲͉̜e̛̙͖̬̩̪̰̱͕̬͓̮͟͟ŗ͞҉̖̖̭̗͔͇͓̹̦̙̜̳͜ͅ ̨͙̖̲͇̭͎̳̮̟̝̰̬̜̀͟m̸̧̩͇̪͓͙̹̦͘u͏̡̲͚͈͎̼͙̣̞̗̟̳̩͓̜͉̫̳̙̕͜r̡͕̫͓̤̹͙̩̣̦͍̩͖̝͙̫̪̕͟ͅd̸̵̼̺̥̥͍̝͕̮͈͝e҉̸̴̢̮̥̟̳̹̠̳͇̱͙͓͕̜͍̹͞ͅṛ̷̴͔̤̥̠̬̪͕̰̣͕̳͎̻́ȩ̜̬̗̦̥̙̺̣͇̖͍͈̗̞̰͢r̨͖̫̜̝̤̤̺͉͚͍̣̥̀͜ͅ ͏̧̛̙̤̦̳͚͖͚̮̤̥̜̀͘ͅm̸̷̤͎͚̦̘͇̮̲̞̺͍͍̪̬ͅù̸̴̼̲̮͓̼̻̫̖̖͙̪͕̝͉͈͞r̶̢̛̰̞̥̪͈͔̞̱̼̮̙͙̯̜d̵͔̳͖̺̠̫́e͞͏̵̪̤̣̜͚̼̪͓̘̱͕̀͟r͏̢̯̱̭͇̻̗e͏͍̻͈̩͈̫͎̣̝̬̰̤͢ͅr̕҉̶̲͙̜̼͕̻̘͕̰͕͎͕͟ ͟҉̘͚͕̠m̸͉̤͙̤̟͕͍͙̥̣̗̠̹̟u҉̶̨̢̝̩̝͓͜r̷̡̫̣̰̞͉̖̠̹͔̣͘͜d̡̧̰̯̩̺͕͙̯̫̙̳̥̜̫ͅę̴̛̠̭͇͉̺̫͈͜ŗ̸̺̭̙̮̘̞̲̹͜͠͠e̴̹̞̘̰̣͙̬̯͔͓̹͓̱͙̯͟ͅṛ̢̲̬̬̱̙͘͟͜͠ ̶̵͕̳̘̞̝̬̗̲̗̭͖͇̱̀͡m̡̛̩͕̹͍̫̩͍̲̹͍̕ͅu̶̴̧͔̱̱̥̬̯͙̕ͅr͡͏̠̜̮̞͉̬̬͓̟͜d̹̺̲̙̬̠̳̫̦̘͔̬͔̣̫͘e̵̵͚̙̬͉̠̙̤̤̹͙̮̗̱̭̮̕̕r̴̘̞̘̕͠͝͞ȩ͕͍͍͙͙r̴͓̞̮̤̲̥̹͡ͅ ̵̵̹͖͚͓̥̗͎̀͠m̶̢̛̳͙̹̬̖̘̱̤̻̘̝͕̙u҉̘̘̠̤̺̣͉̬̰̗̰̪̝̻̮̤̭̀͞͞ͅr͡҉̸̛̣̯͍̙́d̷̟̩̰̱͔̳͓͔͍̙̮͓̥̖̥̘͜e̸̵̶̢͎͎̺̹̬̬͙͘r͏̪̪̯̗̗̝̱̘̝͙͠e̕҉͔̣̣͈̣͙̲̻̪̮͕̦̰͎͖̹͉̮ͅr͖̱͚͉̘̳̻͙̱̝̣͖̤̰̭̹͟͠͡ ̶̶̹̲͕̺͎̮̞̥̞͙̲͘͡m͏̻͉̼͇̺̦͙̗͖͔̹͈̀͠ừ̵̶͖̝͈̖̼͉͍ͅr͏̀͞͏͈͍͎̱̬̰̗d̨͈͉͓͕̰̜̗͎͕͈̞͚̙͈̩͍̝ͅe͏͇̹͇̣̙̮̲̠̥͈̥͎̘͙̟̞̜̬̱͡r̢̨͜͏͙̱͓̼̣͈̖̤̳̯e͔͉̖̩̕͟r͢͢͏͍̯̟̱̤̠̝̺̟̬̥̝̻̹̳̳͟ͅͅ ̷̙̠̯̦͚̕̕ḿ̳̲̦̟͚̤͜u͉̹͓̲̹̹̙͖͈̝̞͔͍̘̜̥͟͞ŗ̲̲͍̱̘͍̯̪́́d̛̘̱͉͕̲̘̙̜ȩ̱̪͖͚̖̝͚̫̰̟̱̪̫̭̻͠r̺̳̬͡ͅe̵҉͝͏̜̼̩̻͙̱͉̫r̶̴̮̞̰̩̠̦͇͓̻̰͇͇͇̪̩͜͞ ̷̴̨̤͍̫͉̳̲̳̠̗͓̙̪̠̣̹͢͞m̵̰͓͔̰͍͍͇̘͠u̴̡̢̱̼̫̰̮̻̯͇͔͔̠ͅr̀͟҉̖͕̪̤͎̥̬̦͈̫̳̹̠̟̱͓̀͞d̷̡̛̲͓͚͎͎͘e͞҉̭̬̖̹͚̺̟̙͈͘ŕ͙͕̤̬̰̻́͢e҉̷̡̢̫̻̗̤͎͓͔͈͓͔̪̪̣͇̱̤̗͓͘ŗ̗͇͖͔͚̭͔̭͙̯̮͕̱̯͢ ̦̥̭̼̠̞̮͍̯͙͎͓̺͠͠ͅm͏̷͙̙̱̼͎̙͎͚̦̖̯̘̜͕̰́͝͠ư̡̠̟̬̻͟͝r҉̷̶̧̦̰͓̭̦̦̥d̶͖͔̞̻͉̹͓̩̺̟͟ę̤͚͙̗͖̕̕͜͠ŕ̷̷̴̗͎̺͔͉͚̟̱̪͕̳͇̹̱̠̰é̡͉̭̱̮̺͙̥̻͉̻͖̠͙̥̕r̴̛̦͔͉͕͓͓͖̺͖̥͙͙̜̠̳͘̕ ̪͈̮̯̖͉̦͕̺͘͝m̧̲̩̦̤͕̖̰̳̝͇͇̩͉̥̙̬̜͘ͅu̧̡̪̙̰͚͖̤͇̺̫̭͉̭͞͝͝r̸̛̠̳̪͍̯̝̙̲̜̻̳͚̲͎̕d̷̷̢̻̻̙̰͇͖͜͡e̴̛̟̣̻͈͙͓͜r̢̛̥͍͙̬̝̘͠͝ͅe̷̡̦̫̠̕͞r̢̧̯͚̱̫̹̭͠ ̡̯͓͓͍̗̭̘̤̖̹̤͈͎̭͝m͏̵̞̼͙͉̟͙͍͚̭̝͕̲͇̙͙͜u̵̢̲̙͉̱͍̲͖̗͇̝͖̞͔̙̝͚ͅͅŕ̶͏̢̻͕̖̩̯͕̟̬̩̫̮̙̼̩ḑ̸͕̱͕̳͔͕e̸̪͎͚͉̤͈͙̗̼̫̜̫̘̺̜͈͚̤͓͞ŗ͞͏͎̳̮͔͕̱e̶̷̴̞̟̠̝̲͇͈̭͖̗̥͞͝ŗ͇̗̭̥͡ ̡̢̤̬̭͙̲͖͉̥͍̗̬̯͈͎͕͟ͅḿ̡̛͢͏̮͈̺̙̪̪ư͎̭̦͙̩͇̱͎͇r̛̬̫͍̞̼̝̱͙͙̙͠͠͠d̢̡̗̬͖̭̤̣͇̝̠̥͈͓̠͉̪̺̖̬͘͟ͅȩ̱̯̝̩̦̼̳̜̠̀͘͘͠r̪̠͉̳͙͇̬̯͇̞̭͕̩͈̱͈͕̯̖͢͟͜͠e̷̸̛͡͏̻̩̣̝̣̦̖̳̻͍̬̗͈̪̠͚̙͙ŗ͕͖̲̯̮̲͇͝ ̷̵͙͕̥̹̙̥̮̖͙͉̪̙̞̪̩̲̦̀̕͟m̵̥͕̼̙̺͔̥͔̣̮̪̲͢͝ͅư̟̯̜̣͙̞͈̫̳̗̗͖͘ͅr̳̭̝͔̱̝͈͇̪̟̩͖͡͞d̶̨̼̤̥͈̤̟̱̳̪́́͝e҉̸͙̗̠̬͉̦̰̻̪̪̹̭̪̺̦̱̬̼̼͟͞r͈̗̣̤̭̺̹̗͟e̪̤̙̲̞̬̲͓̹͙̹̺̜̪̙͘͟͢r̵̴̤̗͉̞͔͔̗̰̳͓͎̞̩͎͚̣̦͜ͅͅ ̛͕̦̭͎̰̮̖̙̩̕͘͜m̵҉͕͍͈̣̲͙̣͉͇̖̯͓͚͖͔̀ư̢̬̪̞̱͈͖̼̭̭̫̙͖̼̠̪̬͈͕͝ŕ̷̸͉̬͙̤̜d͝͏̨̧̘̜̜̱̟̰̜̦̤͔͕̯̞̜̲e̶̢̮̼̦̠͙̯̺̥̝͎r҉̹̻̗͓̫̠̖͙̲̤̪̟͡͠e̳̞̞̺̗͚̱͓̩̲̝̯͟͞͡ͅr̷̡̨̫̭̘̣͔͓͘ͅ ̘͔͙͍̜̪͘͞͠͝m̶̸̵̨̫͈͚̯̩͈͙̥̝̥̦̘̳͈̱̺̹͢ͅṵ̧͔̭͈̪̤̯̺͉ͅr͚̝̯̀͟͝ͅd̢͇̪͚̤͖͘͟͞é̡͎̟̞͈͇̫̗̞̝̟͍͖̜̖̭͈̕͞r̷͓̼̠̺̫̥͖̻̤̖̪͈̙̝͓̀͢ͅȩ͚̬̳̖̹̀͝͝r͔̦͓̰̟̦̹̯͘̕͟͞ ̲̠͈̦͉̟̫̯͍͖͖̼̦͈̜̫̙͎͡m̡̛̻̼̳̼͔̳͇̞̺̥̀͡ͅu̴̵̝̙̦̪̻͚͘r͏̶͠͏̩͙̞̠ḍ̶̛͔͙͎̰̝̪̲̳̘̱̱̱̬̰̮̘͎͠ę̴̛͎̻̗̼͙̤̭̹͔͔͉̖̻̠̱̲̲́̕ͅͅr̶̶͈̱̖̹̪͕̱͇̝͉̟͓̞̮̠e̶̱̬̯̝̗̫̝̠͕̙͕̣͈̼̱̼͘͘͢͜r̴̸̛̮̬͖̰̫̯̜͢͠ͅ ̶̛̙͔̥̦̮͎̼̳̟̼͇̝̼͡͝m̸͍̤͔̭͓̭̥̖͔̕̕ṳ̵̵̪͚̙̙͎̹͕͉͡͝r̢͖̟̜̞̖͔̜͙̘̼̮͟͞d̸̛͓̦͇̳̙̞͉̫̗̰͇͚̲e̶̛̼̼̣̭̪͇̠̖͇̫͚͉̯̱͈̮̲̜̮͝r̡̻̲̫̺̙͟e͎͍͇̤̫͝͞͞r̷̼͔̩͈̜̣͇̥̱̘͖̗̫ͅ ̢̤̬̹͓̮̠͞ḿ̢͙̘̫͘͝u͠͞҉̨̫̮̟͔̬̤̙̪͢ŕ̡̝̺̼̹̗̥̩̳͇̥̯̫̬̟̗d̶̴҉͓̜̲͓̲͇̦̺̣̼͔͙e̷̢̡̮͓̼̩͖̝̭̝̘͖̫͝r̷͚̜̬̤ȩ̨̨̧͇̬̙͕͓̟̣̻͉̖̥̼̦̪̯̀ṛ̶̡̣̤͚̹̞̤̟͉͇̗͓̝͍͉͈̞́͟͝ ̵̩̻͎̟͔͈̀͞͞ͅm̷̫̫͎͖̗̩͕̝̩͇͉̮͇͕̣ư̢̝͍̹̟̘̱̰͟ͅŗ͈̗̳͡d̷̢̛̟̥̣̤̬̟͎̼̟̞̣́̕e̸̡̨͓͓̲̤͟r̨̩͉͓̹̺̞̬̻̰̀͟͟͞e͉̞̜̩̹͍̥̖̲̩̝̭̩̬͚̟͘͝͠r͏̶̭̝̤͙̮̼̺͜ ͕̬̯͎͉̙͔̠̥̤͓̀͠ͅͅm͢͜҉̛͖̱̼̥͓̫̬̣̫̟̼̗͜ͅu̶̸̦͖̣̲̰̙̠̠̗̞̗̱̫̻̜̦͝ͅͅͅŕ̵͕̙̮͔͇͍̝̖̖̤̯̫͖̝͎̠͖͇d̴̴̡̢̗͍̭̭̦͓̟̙͉̰̣̹̟͜ę̸̠̙͍̖̰͈̖͘͝ŗ͎͕̯̲̖̥̤͈͕̖̲̥͚̙̖͕̘̀͟ͅę̸͍͈̩̤͙̮͇̻̟̪̪͍̀r̛̬͙͙͖̰̱͉̯̪̲̙̻͎͈̰͓͢ ͖͓̲̫̗͕̥̪̺̣͈̦͔̯́͘ͅm̴̛̮͉̝͙̙̗̳̯̟͖̘̱̫͈̬͙̥̜͙͘ų̨͕̠̲̙͉̱̩̖͢r̷̨̛̘̮̹͍̗̞̟͍̭̦͇̮̠͙̩͜͝ͅͅḑ̶̛̱̰͉̫̦̮̤͇͙̲̹̬͈̳̘͟ȩ̖̠͕̹͙̘̲͕̝̗̜̘͙̠͓̝̼͟r̶͔̻̮̘̜͇̲͕̙͟͝͞ę̸̡̭̤͔̜̠̯̱̯͙͢͡r̸͏̤̣̖͇̞̟̹̯̺͔̭̗̪̦̟̻ͅ ̸̡͇̬̜̟̱̠̥͈̹̀m̵̵̛͓̙͓͇̣̟̜̲̦̤͘ͅu̬̤̱͍̕͢͢͠ŕ̴̛̗̜͔̥̹̪͍͓̖͍̟̰̪́ḑ̵̮̬͙̥̟è̴͏͇̘̰̞̯̗r͏̛̞̟͖̲͖̦̟̙̤͉͓̩̝̼ę̵̳̜͓͓͟͡ͅr҉̴͢͏̼̻͇̱̖͓̜͇̯͇͉ ̡͉͍͙̱̦̘̯̻̣̣͚̫͖̀͡ḿ̨̞̱͈̩̬̩̩̝̤̗̜̗̗͖͟͝ù̶̵̼͔̙̺͕͘͢r̷̯̦̯̥̝̞̤̝̹̪̘̘̥͍͇̀͡d̛̬̗͍̲͎͎̬̼͉̲͝e̢̼͉͔̥̠͜͟r̘̹̻͔͇̣͚͕͟͝ę͏̢̢̰̹̯̬̣̳̝̻̯̦̹͚̝̬̲̺͔ͅr̵̴̬̪̜̞͚̦̩̳͖͈͈̞͟ ҉̵́͏͙͓̤̮̺̙͕͈͢m̛҉͈͙̱̦̬̣͔͓̕͢u̸̺̠̞͟͠ṟ̮̣̱͓͞͠d̴͈͇̺̲͇̤͎͜ͅḛ͙͕͉͎͕͓̣̮̕͡͠r̸̬̝̬͉̘͚̹͔̠̬̹̦͓̞͎̤͜e̶̥̹̻̥̟̘̬͢͞r҉̘̥̮̞̯͎͘ ̴̢̣͕̱̞̬͎͕͙͕̭̞̥͡m̴̱̫̜̠͔͖̦̲͟u͏̙̮̹̣̹̟̣̖͉̤ŗ̤͎͙͕͈̞͕̰̟̗̱̱̟̹̞̳̀d̸̀͡͏̷̖̮̯̰é̸̘̝̬̝̙̤̠͠r̴̨̡̞͚͈̹̝͍͝͡é̴̢͖͇̜̱̀͞r̸̬̬̰̥͈͉͎͙͈̤̞̞̼̰̝͘͡ ҉̛̞̩̣̻͔̟͖m҉̡̡̜͕̘̖͎͚͔̤̲̰̜̭͚̜̹̥͔̠͠ͅừ̷̛͖̫̹͖̼͕̫͇̟̰̦͎͈̯͙͍͓͡r̸͍̜͚d̴̫̥͉̟͙͓̺̺̳̳͖̠̳̬͙̼̰̩̝͡ȩ̵̛͙͙͓̯̙̠̖r̟͕͖̟͎̠͚̫͖̪̯̻̥̞̪̕͢ͅé̷̸͕̹̬͟r̻̗̫̫̱̘͎̞̤̤̤̖͝͝ͅ ̷̶̠̗̙̼̮̠̩̥͍̪̻̪̜͝ͅm̗̣͕͎̮̮͙̠̰̻͚̻̙͟͞ú̵̢͇̬͚̰͕̪r̴҉̥̯̲̘̫̹̱͖͈͈̤̹̞͈̙̺ͅͅd̸̡͙͙͚̕͠é̸̻̥̥̩͎̜͡ͅr҉̢͙̗͔͔̮͇̘̣͝e̷͙͎̦̭̬͚͖̟͔̝͖͔ͅr͓̝̬̯̬̜̮͍̟̺̪̮͖̯̞̟̕ ̷͇̭͙̦̜̲̱̮̖̥͖̻̱̯̠͕͘͢ͅm̸̸̹͇̹̗͚͉̖͇̻̭ụ͈̦̙̮͢͟r͏̧̲̻̬̬͉d̲̯̝̟͇̫̺̰͈̙̀͘͝͝ę̸̢͓̫͖͈̭̱͔̺͙̳̻̘̫̟̻͜r̷̶̭̞̗̥̭̦̼̹͙̪̤̼̖͢͢͟é̵̡̘̫̦̘̮̝̱̙̘̰̻͈͙͙͓̠͝ͅr҉̛̘̣̜͍̰̜͇̝̥̬͔͍̣̤̬͈̻́͠ ̸̛̮̞͈͕̲͉̭̲̺̪̼̙̫͓͓̫͉̬͜͜ͅm̕͏̫̦̬̬̮̦̝͍̱͓̮͓̲͕̟̖̟̤͞ų͇̲̗̤̙͚̺̩̜͞ͅͅr̦̺̺͍̠̣̱̦̻͙͖̘͜͠d́͘͟͟͏̹͎͙̥͙̠͚̙̟͇̜͓̳͎ͅe̹͕̖̖̭͉̬̖͘͘r̡̪̯͕̲̞̬͕͇̘̖͘͘͜͡e̵̢͟͏̦͓̘͇̭͇̩̳͇̺͔̝̮͖̯̯ͅŕ̢͚͓͍͕͎͓̗̻̫̩̫̙̀͡ ҉̸̡̙̬͔̦͢m̸̷̛̭͔̘͇͖̱͍̠͖͕̙͕̳̤̳ų̷͚͎̺̬̳̼͖͖̦͔̞͉̲͉͓̗̀͡ͅr̢̫̘͍̻̗̼̕͜͡d҉̝͉̲̦̹͓̗̹͘e̶̺̱̝͎̖̻̰̩r̛҉̶̟͙͚̲̮͉̳̹́́e͜҉̴̭̹̻̗̲̝̠̳̤̖̼̖͙̻̜̮̦̹̲͠r̸̤̝̳̜̕͠ ̡̟̭͉̱͔̙͇̙̥ͅm͖̭̤͚̞̦̣̙͔̘̩͔̬͖͞ṵ̢̨̞̝̩͎̳̞̯͟͜͠ŕ̵̨̪̪̰̳̩̲̳̞̫̘͓̩͜͞d͏̷͜҉̤̦̗̠̫̬̞̩̰͙̰͚̰̹̝̺͈̻͖é̼͉͈̯̟̥̜̕r̵͎͙̠͔͉̭̻̣̫̯̯̀͢e̷̡̢̛͔̭̩̦̹̘̠̠̲͔̻̭̖̠͝r̨̥̞̼̹̖͖͍͟ ̛̳̖̝͇͔̣̤͖̀m̞̳͎͎̣̟͞u̴̜̳̬̭̺͕̺͚̦͉̪̪̲͘͞r̶̳̹̙ͅḍ̶̦̪͚͈͕͍̻͉̰̤̀͢ę͕̖̪̤̭̦̙̤̳̠̤̹̖̮͞r҉̮̞̘͕̥̮̦̺̳̞͢ȩ҉̭̻̯̻̠̭̥̪͍̗͔͈̭̬̫͉̫͢r̢͟͏̻͓̻̜̘ ̛̙͈̭̹̖̼̱͍̫͍̖͍̤͙̠͙̀m̡͝҉̬͖̺̼̱̠̗̹u̢̱̥̰̤͉̝̞͙̫̩̕͝ͅr̡̛̼͓̪̟͓̥̜ḑ̴̛̜̰͉̺̝̘̣̼̣͇͎̪͖͓̜̹͡e̷̴̴̲̩͕̳̥̺̣͚̗̪ŕ̛̛͈͚̺͈̳͈̻͓̬̠͢͞e̶̡̢̨̲̳͉̲͚̥̟̰̭̜̫̮͙͈̣̺͍̳͡r̵̻̲̩̪̠͔͍̭̱̳̰̦ͅ ҉̨̰͔͙̦͈͎̜̖̮̹̣͢m͏̸̗̻̳̩̰̀͘͡ͅu̞͇̭̤̜̼͎̘͢͝ͅr̢̹̬̜͘d̨͓͓̮̙͇̜̙̭̜̩̜̖̗͎̀e̴̘͙̘̞͍͔͝r͞͏̣̪̟̺̯͚͓͈͕͖e҉̨̢̼̤͓̪̖̯̳̹̙̭̻͎̭͇͖̗̘͡͞ŗ̳̹͓̦̬̣͕̥̹͙̰̜͈̥̰̞̩́ ͚̱͙̩͙̯͔̰͚̺͇͍͡m̷̵̳̦̠̫̠̫͈̭̱͇͔͉̱̝̙u͜͏҉̲͖̲͍̻͓̩̳͉̺̠͉̮̕r̵̷̢̧̲̝̥͇͙̜̗̼̹̮̮͈̘͝d̨̺̫̝͖͓̺͈̺͉͉̘̭̬̗̜̪̪̞̺͘͡͝͝ȩ̨̬̣̮͚̗̖͓̤̥̭̥̰͎͖͙͉̥̳͟͡ŕ͠͏͏͓̪͈͙̙̼̜̰̟͖̟͉̫̲͉̘̺é̪̜̠̞̫̰̝̲͡͡͠r͏̢͉͓͕̼͚̲̗͕͉̹͓͚̝ ̶̡̦̩̺͕͓̹̭̭̰͓̳̟͘m̛͕̰͎̤̻̻̲͘͟͡ͅu̷̶̧͔͙̱̠̰͟͞r̢͖͈̹̺͇̩̗d̛͓͍̗̤̜̠̼̞̥͇͕̥͠e̢̤̳̘̮̭͍̱̭͟͠r̴̡͍̹̣͉͇͔̳͓̞͎̤͇͟͝é̷̴̶̵͇̟̳̙̜̲͇̜̗͖͖̖r̸̢̠̫͇̞͇͍͈̦͚̟͙͙̖̟̹͖͕̼͜͠͝ ̸̨͚͔̪͔́͢͝m̶̨̢̠̩̣̰̘͕̜͘͞u҉̷͖̞͉̜̖̦͚͙̟͖͇͔̱̰͠r̛̮̳̜͎̀d̷̴̮̖̦̱̝̱̙͘͠͝e̵͏̴͓͉̲̮͚͕̳̘̻̘͟ŗ̞͙̠̻͚̮͍̪̲̳̱̱̥̙͚̥̫̬ͅe͏̷͖̩̹̣͖r̵̴̷̸͔̠̦͈̮̳̥̝̻̹͍͖͙͉̟͇̕ͅ ̸̢̬̬͙͈̝̖̣̀́ḿ̢͔͍̩̺̲̦͇̟͡͡͝ͅu̕͢҉̷̯̲͍̺̟͚̰̝̺͓͔̼̕r̨̢̹̩̼̦̻͉͕̬̝d̸̛̘̗̹̟̝͔̣̺̬͎̙͔͢͝͞ͅe͟͢͞͏̯̮͍̲̜͈̯͚̹̳͘r̭̞͈̻̫̲͔̖͎̲̙͎̯̀͡e҉̸̡҉̳̹͓̘̫͍̤͔̲̺̺̜̤̼r̢̼̻͖̘̭͙̕ ҉̴̨̜̠͖͇̤̼̼̣̬̖̝̥̬͎̀ͅm͈̬̯̙͞u̧͡҉̶̩͚̼̠͉͓̳̯̯̫̳̱̖̱̀r̢̢̟͔͇̤̙̰̻͎͓ͅd̡̨̮̩̼̣̱̫̼̥̬͉͓͔̣̞̭̖͉̪͟͢è̢̪̖̪̭͢͝r͏̝͉̬̰̱̼̖̹̯̜̖͍̱͟ͅe̛̟̜͖̮̯͙͖͍̖̠͕̜̬͍͕̠͎͘r̳̘̠̹͉͜ ̛̙̠̝͟͠m̵̢̱͇̮̯̹̩̤̱͍̘͍̘͓͕̱̞̘͓̗̕͝u̵͔̟͓̮̬ͅͅŕ̨͏҉͓̙̹̞͕ͅd̷̴̴̨̝̰͙͓͔̻͚̤̦͜e̺̮̗͓̥̙̰̪̯͚̳̻͙͢͡r̳̟̟̪̠̰͟͡e͉͓̳̥͜͟͟ͅr̶̨͓̮̞͍̩͙͓̞͟͝ ̷̵̴̮̝̟̤̤̣̫͚͕̮͇̮͠ḿ̞̞̮̹̫͇͕͍͙̳̞̟͠͞͞u̕͜҉̵͓̞̼r̯̪̼͎̯͇̞̼̲͘̕͘͟ḑ̢̡̘̲̯̯͈̀͘è̷̢̻̫̘͙̪̦̼̯̞͇̱̖̺̭͙̺̘͞r̶̡̧̗̯̥͖̞̣̜̘̖̥̳e҉̧̞͍͉͎͖̖͔̜̥͚̤͉̠̞̀̕ṟ̸̩̣͍͔̘̰͎̥̠͓̝͖͈̩̖̀ͅͅ ̛͘̕͟҉͙͇͚̗̠̖͔̞̰̠͙̳m͜͏͢҉̰̟̝̗̙ư͎̜͍̩̻̣̬͎͍̜̼͎̦̭̰͍̘̯͞r̸̦͇̰̮̺̳̤̤̖̪̼͇̺̘͕̠̼̀́͡͞ͅd̸̸̡̠̰̣̲̹̳̱̝͓͙̣̭͇̪̲͢ͅe̶̢̨͏̖̻̜ͅr̶̵̖̤̼̭̱͉̩͜͠e̷̸̢̟̯͙̞̦̤̥̺̤͓ŕ̴̨̛͍̥̬͔̣̺̮̩͠ͅ ̧̺̤̮̮̗̫̤̖̮̯̕m̴̧͚͇̺̠͉͚̘̰̭̼u̧͏̭̹̖̭̠͕̯̻̣͍̫͇r̷̴̞̙̤̙̞̯͘͟͢d̸͎̫̗͈̣̖̣̠̥̩̼͕̤̀̕͜e̴̗̝̣̬̺̠͎̰̝͕̣̬̗̦̕͟͟͟ͅr̷̵̺͖̦̞̫͈̬̝̕ȩ̢̹̝̫̺͈̳͚̜͓̹͎̘͈̫̘̫̞͙̺̀͟͞r̶̷͟͝͏̬̬͎̼̺͓̜̰̺̗͈̯̹̤̪͕̩̙̣ ̴̟̟͇̻͎̮͔̤͓̝́͢͡m̡҉҉͍̤̖͚̥̳̖̞̗͔͘ų̳̮̱̭̼͖̘͚̘̭̬̮͈̩͟͡r̮͖̬̰̥͈̣̺̼̬̭͜͡d͞͏̡̦̥͔̝̗̟̗̫̲͕̱̭̳̞̲͢͞ẹ̵̹͖̀͘͟͡ŕ̶̢̟̙̟̙̦̝̺̗̞̗̞̀e͏̢̭̯̙̬̹̹̝̮́͡ͅr̵͓̯̮͈̱̗̩̤̱͢͟͡ͅͅ ҉̡̡̛͍͕̼̥̺͈̱̳̯̗̤̫͇̖̕m̵̶̞̬̭͓͇̩̺͓̖ų̶̰͎̰̗̘̫͇̲̀̀ŕ̻͉̭̘͎͍̲̲͡ḏ̵̛͚̠̦̜͔̺̙̥̣̦̹͙̯͠͡e̶̡͙̭̣̺͎̙r̝͖͕͔͡͞e̗͎͖̮̗̭̬̖͜r̷̴̛͔̗͚̯̫͚̙̳͎̟̗͞͝ͅ ͏̢̳̞̦̗͉̥̹̹̱̜̻̼͈̮̝̺̤̥͘͢ͅm̴̷̭̦̱̭̱̝̖͖͖̬͎͢ụ̴̡̹̥̝͈̯̺̦̬͓̜̞̺͎͓͟͞ŕ̡̦̝̘̦̙̜͙͖͖͚̯̘̰̤͓͇͢ͅͅd̀͏̵̳͓̮̱̘͉͈̹̦̪͙̟͔̟̜͉̺͇ę̴̵̤̺̗̼̞̟̭͙̲̪̦̟̪̳̭͢͡ṛ̨̭͖̩͍̗̥̤͉͉̞͎̀͢͜͜e̢͟͞҉͖̯̫̰ŗ̻͉̜̥̹̮̫̹̣͘͢ ҉̶̢͖͍̥̦͙̮͕̗̫̲͇̖̟̣́m̷̨͘͏͙̙̙̫̝͈̬͉̺̤͇̫̻́u̶͔̲̜͍̠͖̩̣͎̤̮͖͎͍͇̪̤ͅr̨̳̯̳͔̠̗̥̱̼̳̜͍̬̣̼̺̤̟͜͜ͅd̸̡͕̻͍̬̻͙̹̬͞e̵̴̢̡̬̟͈̼̠̭̦̘͙͕r̵̛͕͍̱̟̘͔̘̫̠͉̹̘̮͇͍ͅe̼̫̺̞͔͎͟ͅŕ̡̢͏̴̼͓̟̥̮̤̝̝̖̮͈̟ͅ ̴̡͕͚͇͍̪͚̟̮̠̥̪̯͎͙̀͝ͅm̴̢̨̹̻̯̰̣͕͘͠u̡̯̰̺̪͢͡r̴̨̡̲͇̳̺̼͖̼͓̺̺̕͡ͅd̵̨̛͖̠̦̘̤́͠ͅe̴̢͙̺͇͍r̷̡̠̬̮̜̘̜̜̮̬̫͘͟͠e͉͖̩̟̪͙͇͇͕͎͎̻͜͠r̷̛̛͙̩̤͚̕͝ ̴̨͕̠̜͖͔̻̤̮̮̠̮̜̘͓̫̳̲͘m҉͏͏̨̡̩͔̙͇̳͉u͟͡҉̰̮͔͙̺̣̫͉͔̠͈͖͇r̝͖̤̯͚͟͞͝͞ͅͅd̴̩͈̻̰ę̡̢̗̰͔͜͠r̷̝̼͉͎̰̻͘͞e̴̡̡̻͎̲̪̮͟͡ŕ̼̞͇̳̺̲͎ ̸̡̡͖̻̜̭̘̣̰̦̭͕͇̹̲͢͞m̡̮̖̺͓̝̻̜̣͇͉̣̦̮͜͞͡ú̢̘̣̖̪̥̤̝r̴̸̸̖̜̝̦͕͖̟ͅd̵̛̹͕̣̟̺̭̣͓̗̬͍̥̥̟͔̦ȩ̴͍͚͎̪̻̼̯̗̮͓̝̗̝͖͜r̷̨̯̬̩̯̳͞͝ę̵͘҉̮͍̗͔̠̬̯͎͎͖r҉̵͕̤͉͍̦̥̻̱̞̳̣̖̳̖͖ ͏̞̩̥͚̕ḿ̶̹̼͇̦̱̣̪͈̺͙͇͘ù̶̴̡̙͔͙̜̞͈̖̞̳̣̰͢ͅͅṛ̴̵̢̜̻͔̖̠͇̥͇̗̪͓̘̫̳̬̱̤d̨̡͕̹̻̩̖͓̫̤̖̟̮̀ͅe̛̛͍̜͓̣̬̥̖̪̳̪̥̺̖̖̼r͏̙͖͔̙͔̕͘͟e̷̥̖̗̝̘̻̤̤͕̪̣̭̩̻̯̦̭͢ͅr̷̻̺̮͙͙̀͘͟ ͍̲͈͇͕̮̻͍͔͍̱̳̳̫͓͓̘̠̀͟͡m҉̧͕͓͎̦̠͉̘̠͙͍͖̺̟̰̱͓̳̮̖̀u͠͝҉͙̺͓̘͚̳͍̩̕ͅr̷̡̨͓͎̗̺̖̟̺̦̘̀͠d̸̫͎̰̜̺̗̜̣̯̯̳͍̜̖̰̜̼͘e̗̩̱̠͕̜̦̝̝̮̭͖͍͘͢ŗ̡̩̹͙͕͎̗̠͈̠͙̘̳͖͇̜̦ͅè͡͞͏͕̦͍̰̼͎̞̠̦̻̣̻̞̬̰r̵̟̰̙̣̪̟͚̀͢͞͠ ̶҉̩͍̪͕̙̼͎͙̗̼̜̩m͏̸̬͇̼̗̙͈͕̀͜u̸̷̡͎̜̼͕̳̼̹̪͖͍͓̹̪͇̝̟̲̕͡r̨̨̬͎̹̻̥͕̮̖̹̺͍͇͍̤͎̙̥̕͢͞d̛̠͚̝͉̹̀̕è͚͕̮̻̝ͅr҉̸̧̡̠̳̜̳̹̫̬̜̫͕͍̥͓̗͔͕͜e͏̨̢̙͉̤̝͖̲͝ͅͅr̴͙̬̤̣̻̝̗̙̲͓͍̖͔̥̰͜ͅͅ ̕͏͝҉̭̺̤̤̜̠̟͍̯̫̹͔͍̼̩͈̥͈͓m̵̕҉̰̠͉̖ͅự̢̹̭̩̹̳̻̱̺̮̲̥͍͍͔̳͇̯́̀r̶͡͠͏̻̱͉͟d̼̣͍͙̱̭͙̩̪̕͢͞e̶̢͝͏̥͎͎͎̭͖͉͙̝̪͖̪̹͔r̛҉̷̦̠͔̪̣̱̰͎̲͓͝e̶̷̡͙̯̱̳̤̯̰r̨͇̳̜̭̜͇̝̙͙̱͇̤̹̠̰̕͠ ̴̨҉͓̱͕̗͕̖͉͍̹̫͔̜͈ͅm̸͘҉͓͇̘͘u̸̱̟͔̱̗̕r̵͏̫͚̼̗̜̮̗̖̩̗̼̱̮͙̜̲ḑ̷̜̺̗̬̬̘̤͟e̷̶̱̩̹͔̺͓̰̥̮̪̹̘͎̺͈̫ŗ̷̢̘͓̻̳̜̫̖͉̰̥̫̰̤̩̹̹͡͡ę̸̀҉͇͕͈̤̟r̨̬͈̙̬̗̣̝̮̠͈̘̘̻͢͡͡ͅ ̶̨̞̥̟̪̹̫̤͚͉͕̼͙͠m̥͎̬͉͔̞̟͞͠u̢̢̟̭͙̖̮͈̹̬̭͉̺͘ŗ͚̳̻̱͖̥̦̱͎̱́́̕͞d̴҉͈̩͍̥͚̰̹͈̮̙͙͈̠̝͕̪ͅé̶͈͉̜̜̫̲̹̲̳̳̳͘̕͡ͅr̸̶̡̟̟̥͉̘̖̜͖̬͚͚͈̀e̷̵̡̛̝͉̺̦̟̥̲͡r̛̛͇̮͓̦̘͉̙̥̖̭͙̯̱͎͔͖ ̴̛͝͏̨̱̻̟̲̬m̗͔̻͓̫̫̳̙͓͉̤̞̮̠͍̀͟͞͝u̶̪̭͇͍̪̤̲͖̪̗̖͕̱̺͜͝͝r̶̷͙̗̳̙̗̼̲͟ͅd́͏̴̫̦̣̺̘͈̳e̵̸̢̢̛̥̺̟̜̪̣̞̺̤̙̠̘̙͈̟̣͇̖ͅr͏̶̨̛̥̰̞͙̠̫̱̯͙͜ḙ̢͎̘̹̞̯̹̞̣̝̯̣̭̼̤̟͜r̢̺̘̙͙͙͈̮̬͢͜ ̱̠̝͔͙̻͇̻̞̭͚́͟m̶̵̘͚̯̀́ụ̷̧̼̝͟͝ͅr̷҉͏͏̗̭̝͍͓̙̘̱̯͡d͏̴̤̦͎͍͕̫̲̩̝̀͜ͅè̢҉̼̻͕̖͙̼͕̭̹͕͇̲ŕ̵̸̤̥̭̦̦̪̞͖̙͝e̴̷̛̛̻̯̺̳͓͈͍̰̣̪̬̱͉͔̯͓͟r̨̪͚̦̝̟̙͞ ̛͇͖͚̥͓̟̞̰͢͞͝ḿ̶͠͏͈̼͖̳͓̥̹̗̭͎̟͉͚͈̘̜ư̧̧̝͙̫͈̲͚̹̣͓͙͕̭̖̬̫̳r̶̡̕͠͏̼̻͖̙̤̙̗̩͉̦̻͚̹ͅd͏̧͡͏̗̩̘̤̖̻͔̭ḙ̞̖̺̝̘̝̝̖̣̩̟̱̩̕͞ͅr͈̼̱̙̘̩͚̕͜͟͡é̶̼͖͚̥̘̝͖̹̭̜̘͉͔͙̰̼̤͘ͅr̸̵̢̡̹̠͚̫͉̙͓̞͈͈̩̱ ̡̛̥̘̻͚͓͍͎͎̮̱̬̠͖̘̘̱̫͙͢m̨̺̯̣̰͇̥̳̪ù̪͖̭̥̲̬͉̞͝ŗ͈͕͓͈̱͉̦̞̼̘̫̥͓̣̣̯͍̀ͅd̵̶̡̨͙̬̼̲͔̺̩̝̻̩͖͖͓è̠̞͈̜͇͓̦͙̀̕͞ŗ̴̟̪̲͔͚̲̣͇̯̘̫̗̀͟e͏̷̴̨̗̗̗̥̮̬̣͚̞̙͇͓̙̥͙͖̱r̸̸͎̳̬̞͎̰͎̭̳̥̺̳͡ͅ ̵̵̩̦̥̰̲m̦̤̖̮̰̬̱̤̯̘͙͖̟̣̬̹͟u͏̴̷̨̻̖͍̤̗̻̞̖̱̰͜ͅr̷͉̮̘̙̕͟͠d́͝͏̻̱̱͎̱̘é̢̨͕̣̻̯̙̖̫̮̞̲̮͞ŗ̸̵̦̬̲̙̭́̀e̛̛̳̠̳̫̟̩̳ŕ̸̷͚̱͇̣̥̳̙̘͈̺̺̠̮̗̘͉̭̩͓̀͡ ̷̢͈̝̯̞́͟ͅm̢̤̦̭͚̙̖̝̱̝̣͝͝ͅu̧̠̬̭̮̺̪̺͡r͘͜͡҉̘͙͚̦̟͖̗̬̤̩̗̭̺̖̺̤̙d̡̧̧̳̯̗̙̦̗̖͖͔̣̪̗̼̰͙͚͍́̕e̸̵̪̹̹̝̫̲̬̬̻̩̘͕̥̮̠̣͡r͚̲̬͔̹̱̘̙͇̳̙͇̪̜͖͈̀͟e̡̜̣͚͖̦̺͖͎̰̥̼͉͕̳̹͖̬͜ŕ̡̢̟̫̞̲̟̙̗̻̹̙͓̞̱̗̪͈ͅ ̧̦̘̙̜̜̞̞̭̯̲̘͡m͏̵̵̧̝̗͇̖̞̙̣̲̩̯̺͍̣͈͔ͅu̵̵̧̡̺̺̯̝̦͎̥̣̱̰̫͓̠͖͍̘̘͕̳̕r̸͚͍̤͓̭̗͈͡d̫̝̫͉̰̮̟̥̥͇̣͈̻͓̥̜͔̥̣͟͝͞è̷͖͔͖͎͘͝͝ͅŗ̷̴̷͎̝͍̥̝͖͖̭̮̘͍͉̗̪̞͇̻̠̠͝ȩ̨̨̨̠̹̮̩̙̜͉͞r͏̶̯̲̼̜̪̙̱̳̜̳̫͖̩̜̟͇ͅ ̷̨͎͇̞͉̫̲́̀ḿ̸͙̙̼̜̖̦͍͔͔͓̼̼̭̻̰̣͠͠u̢̝̳̹̮͙̲͖͢͝r̴͈͉̟̖̦͇̙͟͡ͅd̴̛̘̭̻̤̭̩̱͕̪̮͚̞̠͕̲̺͎̮e͢͏̶͓̞̟̪̲̳̩̜͎̮͉͙͇͙͓̫r̷͢͏̴̖͓̖̩̦̪̺͈͈͕͖͍͖͜e̛̥̜͇͈͔̜̘͘͜ͅͅͅŕ̵̺̝̭̥̗̥͎̭̪̬͘͠ ̧̡̥̰̝̞͉͕͚̖͈̗̣̗̱͙͔̤̫̮͘͝m҉̧̺͙̥̤̠̪͇̯̤̭͘u̢͖͔̠͙̙̗̫̰͕̹̺͟r̢͞҉̜̱̰̠̥̮͕̼͎̖͉̲̖̗̮̖̠͝ͅͅḑ̖͉̤͚͚͔̱̮̱͔̹͙͚̗͚̳͔̕ͅͅe̸̮͚̦͔̳͕͖̺͉̪͕̙̻̗͓͎r̵̥͕̙͚̤̹̘͍̦̠͚͟ͅe̸̜̤̫̻͘r҉̨̝̖̜̻ ̢̩̟̫̮͝m̶̻̭͈͉͚̪̝̘͎̣̙͚͙͡u͏̠̺̥̼̫͈̻͓r̭̜͓̲̠̥̀͞͡d̶̸̼̣͈̳̖͔̲͕̝̺̯͢e̡̛͈̭̻̝̣̗̤̭̠͜r̸̡͖͔̬͔͉̫̤̪̯̙̫̖͠͠è̶̴̦̯̗̯̭̹͡ͅŗ̛͝͡͏͉͍͇͔͎ ͏͍͈̹̗̻͔̘̩̟̳̯̤̖̰̳̤̦̤̳͞m͞͠͏̧͇̯̻͇̦̩u̷̡̟̫̺̥̬̠̕͟r̶̶͉͉̳̭͈̞̱̱͔̙̥̺̗͙̲̩̳͜ͅd҉҉̝̪̬̙̠͔̲̯͈͔̳͈̩̀͢è̶͔̬̱̞̱̦̩̪͕͡ͅr̷̡̨̢͕̺͍̖̪͎̀e̸̙͇͕͖͍̻͎̹͔̗̼̻ͅr҉̷̧̠̺̘̪̹͚͓̝̠̠̦͜ ̷͕͉̝̞͜͝͝m͏҉̖̞͇̱̜̼͈̟͜ͅͅu̷̕͟҉̞̮̰̘̬r̶̡͓̙̳̖̹̘̺̟͙̳̟͟͠ḑ̥̠̲͇̖̖͕̥͓̰͇̯͝ͅe̸͞͏͚͉̯͚̤͍̪͟͝r͏̳͕̞̲̖̠͖̼̭̦̲̥̠̤̙̬̬͖̦̀ȩ̨̡͉̱̙͈̮͕̱̟̺͙̪͍̮̥͔̣̭͘ŕ̛̘̬̜̗̣̣̭͓͓͈ͅͅ ̬̻͓̣̫̤̜͔͔̜͓̼̯̕ḿ̩͔̤̞̟͉̭̬̺̮͢ų̷̯̖̦̺́͢͢ͅr̳͚͉̟̺̻̣̺͙̥͟͞d̶̦̣̖̰̟͕̟̺̖͇̻̝̜̫̲̦͕̦́ͅe͘҉̱͓̘̘r̛̪̜̼̩̳͓͜ͅę̛̙̖̗͓̮̪̣̙̮̰̦̞r͏̧̘̳̭̟͍̥̦ ̟̯͕̫͈͔̯̞͉̟͔͈̠̕͢m̷͖͇̖͎̱̯̳̩̼̜̲ṵ̵̡̹͇̱͉r̶̨̟̣͉͇̥̼̣̘͚̬̲̰̖̣͘͜ḑ̸͏͙͔̰̩͖̲e̴̷̻̟̙̫̕͢͜r҉̛͈͔̺͔̳̪̺̻̱̱̜͇̻͔͔̀e̢̗͕̭͎̪͎̫̼̤ͅͅŕ̢͙̪̲͍͚̻̥͙͍̱̤̝͚̲͘͟ ̤͚͔̗̰̖͍̰͚̬̬̼̕͞m̝̠̳͙͈͔̫̀͜u̧̖̥̼͘͟͠r͏͝͏̛̱̳̯͎̮͔d̴҉̲̙̙̰̝͎̬̞̮̲̝͚̰̥̹̥̼͡e͎̝̻͖͍̪͉̜̼̞̖̯̣̰͢͡ŕ̢͖̲̹̟̱͇͜e̶̴̩͖͚̼̹̥͕̥̣̜͚̰̲̺̰̙͈͠ŕ͟͏̣̤̥̱̦͓͙̭̟ ̀҉̛̯̱̳͍̫̖̳̥́ͅm͏̶̛̰̖͔̯̼̪͙͚̙͠u̴̺̳̭̙̫̠͎̣̺͎͙̠̲͠͝r͡͞͝͏͖͖̜̳͡ḑ͢҉͟҉̙͖̻͕̗͍̪̫̭̖e̵̙̟͙̯̩̬̟̞̟̣̱͔̥̤̘̞͝ͅr̼͔̩̤̖̝͎͜͠͡e̡͏҉̶̙̤̮͎͎̜̪̖̮̼̖̘͙̜̠͙͟r̴͍̟͍̯̫͔̰̝͕̪̭̰ ̴̡͡͏̖͖̫̲̦̣̺̹͍̳̯m̵͏̲̼͉͍̹̣͚̦̮ͅu̡̢̲̫͈̬̱͙̘͖̫̗̜̮͈̪̹̯ͅr̴̨̫̱̰͍͎͎͎͇̫̕d̴̢͉̥̬͉͍̜͈̙͝͠ͅę̷̢̛̯̜̺̲̥̺̠͍͉̻̫͙͕̮̬r̵̪̺̟͝͝ͅȩ̵͍̰͈̺̥̙͈̱̗̤ͅͅr̛͍͎̗̮̠̬̖͠ ̡́҉͙̬̭̩̳͉̰̬ͅm̵̮͔̝͙̤̼̖͡ụ͙̻͜͞r̵̸̹̥͚̞͇̯̹̳̦͡͡͠ͅͅd͇̺̤̹͓̦͓̯͉͖̕̕͜͞e̵̖̣̺̺̟̪͝r҉̶͇̙͔̟̼̠͢e̶̢͔̞͓̯͙̩͖͕͍̤͚̥͍r̴̸͍̘̜̦͍̩̮̪͟ͅ ̷̲̹͇̫̹͖̘͕͝m̡̨͠҉͉̯̜̲̱̺̹̲̱̖̦̘u̵̳͉̭̱͎̘̱̠̤̞̬͕͕̰̤̠͘͞r̸͎͎̺̰̹͚̪̺͘͜͟͝ͅd̡͔̲̼͙͕̤̲̻̞̰͕͖͕̱͡ͅe̸̵̡̻͔̬̼̬̲̞͚͚̻͍͈̰̜̭̪̺ͅr͓̰͓̮̳̫̕͝e͏͝͏̵̞̪̯̙̫̹̝̬͝ṟ͓̖̥͍̜͔̭̗̦͕̕͢͞ ̨̼̤͍̰̲̜̣̖͘ͅm̷͓̥͈͚̯̣͉̤̞̣̰̮͈͙͖̲͜͝͝ù̱̬̜͝͠ͅr̶̡͉͓̼͔̯̟͘d̛̤̤̟̥̟͉̬̯̠̫̪̰̗͎̰̀̕͡è̶̵͙͓͙͙͇r̢̛̩͙̱̥̥̙̘̰͍̥͖̦̟̤̫̲̫͘e̷҉̩̰̟̜̙̗̘̞͠r҉̣̬̰ ̢̨̠̝̮̘̮̤̥̭̥̠̙̘̙m̰̥̟̖̘̻͈̪̲͖̬͝͡u̢̕҉̧̧̰̹͍̜̹̠̩͍̲͕̣ͅr̸͟҉̨̧͈͈̹̥̠̙d̸̢͍̙̦͢͡ẹ̢͇̯͍̩̩̭̤͖̺̩̟̳ŗ͜͟͝͏̭̙̱̫̬͓͎̝̬̗̲e̥̞͍͇̰͔͙̻̱̕͜ͅͅr̳̳̦̠̤͈͙̗̞͢ ̡̲̟͕̪̼̭͚̗̼͓̟̪̤̣͉̕͠ḿ̢̢͎̲̲̜̼̤̗̭͚̪̮ͅͅú̸̧̗̫̩͖͍͎̠̫͈͎͉̟̘̬͓͎̭͟ŕ̵̻̖͎̳̭̫̲̩̫͇̦̕͞͠ḍ̢̧̱̲͉̻͚̦͔͓̬͉̤̝̳̻̘̩̤̀͟é̛̛̲̦̟̘̻̠͇̜̝̯̼̖̝̖͍̭̺̯͜ͅr̢̧̞̩̲͙͎̣̕ͅè̢̫̥̠̹̰̯͙̲̯̹͉͔̺͖̪̙͎͞r̛͚̯̹̜̼̕͜͝ ̸̙̬̜̥̰̼̳̹̗͚̲̞̱̯͕̲̦͘͘̕͠m͏̸͈͇̺̘̙̻̜̻͖̙̼̱̜̟̘̩̘ͅu̟̯͍͚͎̰͚̹̰̹̥͔̱̦͠ͅr̛҉̸҉̫͔͙͖͕̯̜͓̣̪̜̣̣͍͓̞͕ḓ̸̛̝͓̭̥̤͇̯̥̮̠̯͘͝͝ͅe̟̼̯͖̝͍̝͚͕̪̞̙̙͖̕r̶̸͓̰̤̲̦̫̩̭͔͚̺͙̦̦̤͎͉ͅe̸̞̙̲͖̮̭͉͇̲̙̲͙̹̭̠͕͠ŗ̸̵̻̯̜̩̝̦̙͉̘̦̻̱̮̹̠̯̰̯̀ ͡͏̯̠̗͙m̸̴̥͉̬̯̖͓̝u̶̳͔̦̗̣̻͘͝͡ŕ̴̵͇̹̮̯͚̦̣̻͍͠d̶͔̠͓͔̯̹̦͎̤̜͍̫̭͔͎̥̺̳e̷̡̢̨̥̟̳̲̜̞̞̞͘r̨̟̯̟̫͕͙͖̹̣̖͜͠͠e͚̫̬̲̗̥̺̤̪̺͉͙̗̻͖̲͘͢͢͠r̶̡͓͉̼̬̣̼̹̗͙̙̗̙͔̤ ̷̵̛̩̯̪̘̰̦͇̩̗͖͈̥̫͍͓̩͍͈́ͅm̵͝҉͠҉̹̩͚̪͚̭̞̟͔̖͈͇̣͇u̡͚̞̯̮̙̻̫̟̮̹̮̙̼͍͠ͅr͏̤͓̞̮͓̭̻͍͕͎̟̬̤̱̤͙̳̩́͝d̸̨̗̹̼͘͢e̡͏̠͓̹̦̖ͅͅŗ͘҉̨͇̭͎͓̝͓̟̼̹͙̪̭ȩ̵̛̫͓̹̤̰̞̞̥̦̗̙̯̹̹͎̕͟r̶̷̼̘͈̼̙̗̺̰̮̭͎͇̘ ̵̨̢̱̲̲͓̬͙̭̼m̯͎̻̪̙̟̥͈̀u̴̢̡̮̳̮͙̩̯͇͚̝̪̟̠̙͖̟̗̳̖͚͘͢r͡͡͏̟̗͈͔̩͈͙͇͍̠̞̩̦͟͝d̡͉̘̠̜͚̺e̷͔̤͢ͅr͖͎̺͖͎̥͖̭̺͢͝ę́͟͡͏͕̺̲͖̥̬͔͍̼̰̘r҉̷͏̪͕̩͎̩̜͈̹̘̪̲̼ ̷̞͍̬͙͎̝̥͍̝̜͕̼͎̯͡m͏̸̟̮̤͙̰͉͇̜̝̻͘ͅu̶͈̭͖̳̫͖̖r̡̭̣̫͇̀͡d̯̼͚̤͚̜̪̥̺͎͎̫͔̝̤̼̹͠ͅͅe̴̪͓͙͔̘͕͎͖̗͢͟͞ŗ̵̷̷̱̘͙͖̺̠̱̜̻̖̮̞̜̱͙̯͖̘͟ͅe͏̯̠̤͖̠̜̲̳̰̻̗̩ŕ͖̞̮̦̙̼̘̻̟̞̱̪̝̘̖̜̕͞ ̡̰̮̙̤͙̹̹̥̙̠̱͚̭͞m҉̵̛̱̰͕͓̪̝͚͉̜̟͢͞ͅu͠͏͘҉͍̩͎̲̪͠ŕ̸͙̤͖͎̬͉́͝d҉̵̶̛̠̮̼̹̩̯̹͙̯͙̻̫̩͔͞e̸̪͖̯̫͖̣͉̘͉̙͝r҉̷̨̣̻͉͈̳̦͇̞̟͍̮̣̭̗̰e͎̻͎̘̯̙̣̥̪̰͉̰̟̝̣͜͞ͅr̮͔͈̻̦͓̞̺͙̀͢͠͞ ̷̡͓̱͇͔̳̳̳̦͇͖̩̗̟̝̘̰̩̯̺m͇͉̱̙̰̻̦̼̼̰͕̟̙̹̳̕͜͞͡ͅͅu̡͏̴̨͕̰̳̲͇̞̻̰̳͈̹̭r͞҉҉҉͈̥̞͔̻̲d̙̘̭̤̬̩͕͇̯͙̺͠͠e̥̰͚̻̫̪̲̙̙̕͜͡r͏̢̞͖͓̬̠̤̞̝͈̥e̴͉̼̖̳͎͉̗͚͙̳̳͝͠͡r̛͏̠̺͚͇̩̲͓͎ ̢̙͕̗͍̱̘̭̠̀͠m̸̸̧̨̯͎̠̺̬͙̲̟̟̙̟͍͙̱͎̦̝͡u̴҉̸̦̳̰͙r̷̩͖͙̳͉̯͈̺̗̪̥̝̜̰͜͢͝d̷̨͔͔̞̠̝͟e̸̝̙̲̯̮͟r̷̡̧̯̬̟͓̲͢͜e҉̛͘͢͏͈̩̜̝͖̝͉̗̠͉ŕ̨͓̩͈̯̙͍͟͞ ͏̛̬̤͈̹͎̣͖̪͞m̸̧̢̟̙̼̱̜̥̥̜̳͍͔̣̯̠͕̩͇͍̺͡u̷̴͕̬͔̙̱͎r̷͔̲̟͜d̷̢͍̯̳͍̤͎̖̲͟e̷̢̧͙̣̭̝̟̟͉͚̤̖̺̥͡͝r̴̨̞̬̝̞͔͡e͜͏̴̛̫͙̬̺͉͘r҉̩͕̲̹̳̙̰͉͈̘̣͓ͅ ̵̧̖̼͓̲̝͎͙̜̻̻̘̜̙͇̀͘͞m̸̫͎͉̝̭̫̺̠̯͓̹̙̥͍̟̕͜͠u͞҉̨͎̪͕͓͙̕ŗ̡̤͚͕̼͖̫͖͈͈̟̟̫̱̖̕͞d̴̷̯͖̙̩̮̞̱͚̹̫e̸͎̤̟͎̩̤̥͇̳̬̥̯̳̲͡ͅr͏̨̢̠̳̪͍͕̠͜ę͙̗͇̹̗͉͕͖̘͎̯͟r̴̷̯̪̣̖̲̭͍͇̫̟̭̙͔̗͓̣̪̀͠ͅ ̡̰̦̲̣͈͍̼̰̮̼̘̟̹̞̻͉͟͡͝ͅm̸̸̛̱̱̻͓̗̰͓̖̭̜̠̣͎̥̲̯u̶̧̨̩̺̤̩͈͉̰̫̻̼͘̕r̤̤͎̺̻͎̼̀̀͜d̷̼̻̮̺͈̫̟͓̳̗̰͇̹̟ͅe̵̛̞̫͖̻̼̲̮̩͇̭̳̗͜͞͝ŕ̷̶̢̰̞̜̗̭̭̩͍̫̗͡e̡̢͖̠̮̜ṛ̶̨̠̟̘ ̡̛̮͚̰̼͓͖̳̣̣̘m̡̢͏͏̫̙͔͇̼̰̪̩͚̮̳̱̼̙̮ų̥͕̫̲̜̰͚͍̩̮͈͙̙̺̼͖̮̹͟r̵̡̠̖̻̫̙d̷̸̵̡̗̙̦͕̞̜͕͍̹̯͙̻͚̫̟͜ͅe͝͏̖̪̬̪̤͓̪̘̦͔̫̣̝͇̞̭r̖̰͉̩̗̣͔̘̖̦̮̮͟͞ę̸̢̝̥̬̣̩͔̮͟͝r̷̛͎͉̤̞̪̤̫̞̙̺̜̬̦͖̞̲̪͜ͅ ҉͏͈̺͙̘̙͙̖̩̟̠̳̯̲̩ͅm̢̛͟҉̣̖̹̞͖̲ͅu̸͚͎̭͇̼͇͚͇͇͍̝̹͢r̯͇͔͉͔̰͙̞͕͉̯͉̩̮̺̙͇͜d̛̰͙̭̖͎͔̜̦̙̘̰̣̹̘̕͜e̴̢̖͙͕̲̦͎̮̟͈̫̥̮̫̦̦͔͈̳͢ŕ͏̷̧̤͚͓͇̦̯̝̪͇ͅͅͅe̝͈̘͍̳̳̳̱̘̥͠͡ŕ̴̨̪̤̼̯̹̼̩͕͎̝̳̼̬͈̭̖͢

 

 

 

Immediately, he felt sharp pangs of guilt shaking his own SOUL so violently he jumped to his feet, terminating the connection.

"My child, what is it?" Toriel rested her hand on Gaster's spine.  Were those the human's thoughts, or his own?

"It's... what exactly happened to her? Why won't she respond anymore" He asked, trying to keep his voice level as he pushed back his own unpleasant memories.

"I am not sure, she did not seem inclined to speak of it."

Toriel replied slowly, moving to the bed to lift Carmen into an embrace the child seemed to take no notice of.

Taking notice of her compromised situation, Gaster took the shirt she had folded at the foot of the bed and opened it up to redress her.

Toriel's gentle paws lead Carmen's unresponsive hands through the sleeves-- "She became catatonic like this about an hour before lunch, I was not there to see her come back." -- and Gaster awkwardly lifted Carmen's curls out from under the shirt, trying not to rip strands that got caught between his phalanges' joints -- "If I remember right, the previous Royal Scientist had to treat you for similar symptoms back when I was an intern, correct?"

At this, Toriel said nothing, but instead ran her neatly filed claws through the human's messy hair.

 

* * *

 


	5. Living So Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WOW. This chapter did NOT want to get written.
> 
> Let's not even talk about Just Like Heaven right now.
> 
> So, as you can tell, I've adapted my writing style after KenyaKetchup's style, given her formatting just adds to how addicting her stories are. Let me know if you like this style better than what I had previously, and I'll reformat the previous chapters accordingly. Thank you all for supporting this!

* * *

 

The Queen let out a resigned sigh.

“Dr. Tog called it post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m not sure if the treatment sessions were of help, I think time was the greatest factor in managing… what would happen.”

The skeleton shifted his bones farther away from them as he thought about the situation.

 

He himself had only been a child when the Royal children passed, and for the longest time the castle remained closed while the King and Queen mourned.

It had never occurred to him that they would still be grieving, so long later.

 

But… Asgore had _already_ collected _five_ _souls_ ,

 

and it would be _so_ easy to just get the human alone and take her soul _himself_.

 

But caring for humans was what helped Toriel manage her trauma, even after all these years. Did they really remind her of the little human? Somewhere in the back of his mind, far from his conscious thought, Gaster wondered if she could even notice how different all the humans were in appearance.

 He ran a hand over the ridges of his skull and let out an exasperated sigh.

 

Patience was a virtue completely lost on him.

 

The human had been alone when she had recovered from her stupor, but _why_?

 

 

She had emerged to say lunch was ready…

 

Toriel had left the food cooking under a ball of fire magic when she had come out to confront him, so the food must have started burning.

 

Cooking.

 

Cooking.

 

…

 

 

…. _Cooking_?

 

…

 

“What’s for dinner?” Gaster enunciated every letter as he spoke it, completely in disbelief that he would be trying such a juvenile method to rouse her.

 

Toriel didn’t seem to catch on to his method and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Dinner? My child, we _just_ had lunch, you’re going to spoil your appetite if all you can think about is food.” Gaster managed to form some sort of half-hearted apology as he noted the human’s response. It was very slight, but—yes, there! Her lip just twitched upwards! She could still hear what they were saying, then.

 

“Do you have any cookbooks, your Majesty?”

 

The goat woman stared at him, then followed as his eyes darted over to the hunched over girl a few times. “Oh!” She gently propped Carmen up against Gaster, then got off the bed. “Yes, I believe I do. One moment please.”

 

. . . _shit_.

 

Gaster sat stiff as a board, his metacarpals held just over the girl’s arms as her head rested limply on his clavicle. While he was used to seeing all sorts of species and their problems, physical contact was something he rather wanted to avoid. A few stray tears bubbled over the ridge of her long lashes, causing star shaped splotches to form on her blouse.

 

If he was going to steal her soul, now would be the perfect time, but…

 

“I apologize if my bones are uncomfortable, they’re… not really meant to be cushions.”

 

Silence.

 

_Come now, Gaster, you’re a scientist, you can easily make it look like an accident, so why don’t you?_

“…Would you prefer to lay down?”

                                               

Much to his displeasure, the response from the human was to wrap her arms around his ribcage and lower her head slightly, and Gaster couldn’t help but let out a sigh from a respiratory system that didn’t even exist.

 

It.

 

Was.

 

A.

 

Hugger.

 

“I am _really_ not comfortable with this.” The skeleton admitted, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice. Given the timid nature the human exhibited so far, she should have let go immediately, but instead, she looked up at him with a dazed expression, dried tear streaks covering her freckled cheeks.

 

“I’m sorry.” She half-whispered.

 

“You’re not getting off, though.”

 

Silence.

 

“If you can talk, then you have enough sanity to sit up on your own.”

 

Carmen stubbornly gave his ribcage a light squeeze to indicate that this — _goddamn_ – hug wasn’t over.

 

“Tell me what you want for dinner.”

 

S i l e n c e .

 

“Or maybe we just won’t have dinner at all.”

 

“Sweet potatoes.”

 

“…What?”

 

“I yam always happy to eat sweet potatoes.”

 

"Don't."

 

Gaster gave another heavy sigh from his nonexistent lungs, as this clearly wasn’t going to end anytime soon.  He couldn't bring himself to push her off though... And so the two silently stayed in that awkward side hug until Toriel returned. She gave Gaster a coy smile—much to his despair—before holding it out for Carmen.

 

 

_104 Recipes with Snails: Now includes snail desserts!_


	6. Almost Believe They're All I Can Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *kicks the door open*  
> IT'S ME
> 
> Oh boy, oh goodness gracious, I am the worst, aren't I? Total honesty time, when I was on Fanfiction.net, I actually never finished a single fic I started. But I was like what, ten or eleven? I'm a grown adult, and I can totally do this, I will FINISH this story, and the other fic that has like one paragraph of the new chapter done after two months.
> 
> I also want to give a major shout out to CallaCaptor for writing a request oneshot of the Riverperson's observations that take place just after Chapter 3. Their writing style is phenomenal, and as the Riverperson says, "Tralala... I ship it."

* * *

 

 

Time passed in the Underground.

 

Carmen took to learning human/monster history from her newfound guardian, and arithmetic and standard earth science from the Royal Scientist whenever he had time to come all the way out to the Ruins.

 

It seemed that with every visit, he became more and more distant with both her and Toriel, and in a rush to get back to the laboratory for his projects despite the shadows forming under his eyesockets.

Monster anatomy was still a curious subject for the human girl, and she often found herself wondering about basic monster functions and compatibility between the subtypes of monsters.

How could skeleton monsters taste their food if they didn’t have tongues or tastebuds?

How could dark gray bruises form on a skeleton if they had no blood, or otherwise visible blood stream?

How does food help a monster recover their ‘magic reserves?’

 

Why did some monsters, such as Miss Toriel or Gaster, seem far more advanced than monsters like the Froggits and the Whimsun she rarely got to see?

 

Granted that asking such questions were considered rude to Toriel, Carmen couldn’t bring herself to ask Gaster those questions either.

Despite his intolerance of humans, the Royal Scientist found himself taking all his scheduled lunch breaks at the former Queen’s home.

If he couldn’t extract the human’s soul, then it may as well be an opportunity to study their behaviors.

To study how the human would graze her finger over the top of the salt shaker and put the same finger _in her mouth_ when she believed no one was _looking_ …

 

Or how those _cursed_ human eyes just happened to sparkle like pure vesuvianite when he brought her ingredients or cookbooks from the Capital…

 

Or how those freckled little ears would twitch up and down just very slightly when she was listening to him so intently, despite how mundane the retelling of the day’s events was to him already.

 

Despite how cold he was becoming towards the pair, there would always be something in the pockets of his coat for them.

 

Toriel, seemingly confused as to what to do with the sudden influx of ingredients (“This was very thoughtful, but the alcohol in extract would desiccate the snails before cooking. I think I’ll _escargot_ take this to the girl.”), gladly relinquished her kitchen to Carmen, who was more than grateful to have a place to experiment her newfound recipes.

 

 

“You should not consume that raw.” A wall of violet hieroglyphics appeared no more than a foot from the human’s face as she examined the bottle in front of her.  A tint grew on Carmen’s freckled nose as she set it down on Toriel’s counter. “Oh phooey, you know I know better than that.” She beamed, causing the skeleton to roll the white lights in his skull.

 He turned to the window that sat on the far right of the kitchen. In most homes, the window should have rested just behind the sink fixture, but given that all that lay past that wall was stone, the alternative was a sliding door to the space between the kitchen and the adjacent wall that served as a safe place for Toriel’s snails to roam freely.

 

A bell rang once, and he turned just in time to see her pull a muffin tray out of the oven and patter on her bare feet to the open window in the living room. Though cooking really didn’t interest him, he certainly didn’t mind being able to take a few muffins or leftovers back to the lab. But this was the second recipe she had asked for his “assistance” with, and he certainly wasn’t going to eat 24 muffins in one sitting.

 

“Alrighty!” She stepped back into the kitchen with the first batch and pulled a muffin out for him. With a quiet ‘thank you,’ he bit into it. It was a little… different. This was definitely chocolate, which was safe for almost all monsters, but at the same time it was… just slightly spicy?

He eyed it skeptically.

“What are these red pieces?”

“Chili pepper.”

His eyesockets turned down in confusion and slight disgust before promptly (and rather rudely) pushing the offending confection out from his teeth and into the sink with a flicker of purple.

Carmen’s mouth fell open before he dropped the rest of it in the sink and continued, “Human, are you trying to poison Toriel? Glycoalkanoid Solamine is _toxic_ to most animal-based monsters!”

“I-it is?” She asked meekly before he continued, “You should have asked me if it was safe first! _Dammit_ —“ He slammed one hand onto the counter, causing her to jump. “--even a seed’s worth of these things are enough to paralyze the smaller monsters!” His voice rose in volume with each word. After a few breaths to regain his composure, he realized the tears brimming in her eyes and exactly how loud he had screamed at her.

“C-Carm… I…”

She wordlessly took the cooled muffins and placed them one by one into a box, taking slow breaths to calm herself and to stop crying. Gaster suddenly felt horribly guilty.

_He_ hadn’t even known that until last year when trying to resolve the sudden and very severe gastroenteritis outbreak in the Capital.

 

“I-I apologize, I shouldn’t have snapped like that. There’s no way you could have known that.” He said quietly as he watched her fill the box.

Gaster was seriously contemplating telling Toriel that it would be best if he didn’t visit for a few weeks when the box was gently placed in his metacarpals. Carmen let go of the box and placed her hands on his before looking up at him with a tear-streaked smile. “I accept your apology! And, well, I’m sorry for not asking you first, and for, um… kind of overreacting like this. I really am a dumb dora, huh?” She added with a laugh.

 

And he was really taken back by that comment. Granted, he wasn’t exactly sure what a ‘dumb dora’ was, but her inflection surely showed that it was meant as a self-depreciating term.

“Don’t think that way.” He replied softly.

Carmen’s cheeks flushed just ever so slightly when the silence of the house was interrupted by a loud clatter from the living room.

Usually it would have been ignorable, however…

 

Toriel had just left for the ruins, and wasn’t expected back for another few hours.

 

The human walked over to the living room and looked around before realizing what the sound was. With Gaster behind her, she ran over to the window and peered over to look for something.

“What is it?” He asked, setting the box on the table.

 

She turned to him and nervously asked, “Aren’t all the monsters in the Ruins animal-based?”

 

Not quite following her question, he affirmed, “For the most part, why?”

That was all Carmen needed before throwing off her apron and bolting out the door. Gaster quickly moved to stop her, but just barely missed. Instead he called out from the doorway, “Wait, where are you going?!”

 

 

“Someone’s stolen the second batch!”

 

* * *

 


	7. Remembering You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *drags self in*  
> *posts this as my procrastination screams in anguish*  
> *drags self out*

"Y-you’re going out into-- WAIT!" 

 

Gaster yelled after Carmen as she rounded a right at the T- junction. Just before the turn, she looked back at him, hesitating just the slightest amount by bouncing back on her heels. "I'll find them!" She called back with an apologetic smile, her footsteps fading out.

 

After a delayed pause, a lavender tint creeped up his spinal cord to the base of his skull. 

"God  **_dammit_ ** _! _ " Gaster cursed to himself as he grabbed his coat and slammed the door shut before giving chase to the human girl, all the while calculating,

 

"seventeen froggit...eleven whimsun...four vegetoid..." He stopped at the blackened tree.

 

"That's a  _ 62%  _ chance of discovery!"  The scientist yelled out in frustration, slamming the side of his fist into the tree. The force caused the few leaves still attached to the branches to flutter down, including one that landed rather comically on top of his skull. 

 

Really, he was angrier at himself.

 

If he had  _ just  _ kept his  _ fucking  _ temper down, she wouldn’t have felt obligated to find them. And why had he been so quick to anger? 

 

It wasn’t like…

 

she  _ knew   _ what she was doing.

 

Guilt weighed down on his shoulders. 

 

She wasn’t like  _ that  _ human at all, was she?

 

“Human-- ugh, Carmen!” He called out, following the path towards the caverns.

 

\---

 

Luckily for her, the ordinary traps had already been disabled from when Toriel had passed through, and had yet to recalibrate themselves. Did traps recalibrate themselves, though? She hadn't thought to ask.

 

After stopping for breath at another junction, she looked down and pressed her hands just under her chest to stop their shaking.

 

“Why am I…” As the tremors rocked her body, guilt was flooding her mind and the crushing reality of the situation dawned on her.

 

Someone was going to get poisoned and killed…

 

Because she was so  _ stupid…  _ and God,

 

 

what a stupid reason to die.

 

 

The tendrils of depreciation coiled themselves around her mind, a cacophony of memories of herself crying, of her Christopher crying, of her mother screaming at her, reminding her that this would not̵͖̬͉̳̖̭͘͡ ͕͉̥̯͖͚͜ͅb̗̟͎̳͖̻̻̘e̙͘͜ ̧̛͙̤͍̭͔̹͝t͏̖̱̯̦̬̹ͅh͚͚ḛ̴̢̱̫̙͜ ̴̲͓̟̫͓͠f͓̱͉̠̕i̸̷̠̪̳̙̤̻͙r͓̩̼̟̤̟s̯̣̱̱̱t҉̧̪̩̘͖̯ ̱̰͉͈̗͙͇͙͝p͏̴̪̣̰͓e̻̦͔͈͈r͉͉s҉҉̤͓͈̭͍o̡̝̠̭̟̫͕͚͟͠n̛̝̬͔͇͈͉͉͠͡ͅ ͕̳͇̝̙̯̼̪́t͏̲̜͈̀o̧̼̜͉̞̜͘ ̻̙̖̯͖́d̷̬͞ͅi̖̯̮̭̙͕̥̟͟͡ḙ͈̯͇̟͙̝̦͝  **̨̠͘͢b̨͢҉̺̰e̶̞͈ͅć̡̯̭̻̹͝a̵̛̹̘̦̠̲͞u̱͚̱̰̳͠͠͞ͅs̛͚͎̺͎͝è̘̺ ̟̦̯͕̬̞͢o̩͉f̸̝̹̦͇̪̱͢ ̢҉͏̰͚̳͙͇̬h̛̪̗͖̳̻́͟e̢͓͎̠̣͘r͍̻̯̣̘** .̸͕̮̩̲

  
  


Suddenly, there was splashing water before her, scratching nicotine-scented nails clawing towards her face. The water was turning orange-red and her fingers sunk into the skin of that monster’s neck, and a scream came from under the water 

 

and the s͟ ̢k ͢i͘ ͞n̨

 

u̺̤n͕̟d̢e̡̫̼͇͙rh̵̶̨̙̠͚͙̲͚̗̼̜͍̰̘͗̆͑͒̎ͯ̎̇͒ͭͬͮ̌̓ͭ͛̕͜ ͐ͭ̋̌͗̓͌̊̎͌̾̈́̾ͭ҉̶̡̺̞̻͚͍̙̩̰͈͚͢͟ȩ̶͚͇̯̦̦ͮ̽̉̈́̈́̉͊̎̇ͬ̋̃͌̂ͮ̀̚͟ ̷͙͈͎͉̜͉̗̋ͭ͛ͪ̌͛͂ͨ̿̓ͣ͂ͪ̏̍͡r̷͓̦̰̘̖̰̳̳͍̩̞͙͇͈̣͔̟͙̓ͨ͐̒̃̈́̾͐̐ͪ́ ̢̦̝̘̺̳̆̐͂̿̀ͭ̅ͥ̀̆̉̔͒̌̐͐̚͡͞o̼̮̫͈̩͉̪̥̬̠̬̹̲̫͗̋͗̏͊̋͌͒ͦ͌̑́̕͝͝ ̓̍ͫ̐̉̊̑ͣ̐̀̋ͩͧ̐̿͏̢҉͇̯͖̺̖̼͘w̴̶̢̧̜̳̜̻͈̦̰̲͙̞̮̺͈͎͉̥̗͚̞͒̾̎ͤ́̆̈ͦͩ́ ̡̨̖̙̣̦̩͙̭͓̘͙̖̳̼̖̮̓ͧͨ̆̏̽̑ͮ͌ͤ́ͩ̒̽ͬ̀͜͡ͅͅn̷͚̲̥̖̖̗͈̙ͬͦ́̐̿̐ͧ̀̍ͩ̓́̽̀̚͘͟͡ ̶̹̹̺͚̝ͬ̓ͪ̃̋͜ ̧͈̻̞̖̗̱̅̑̾́ͥͦ͋͑ͮ͌ͦ͡͞ṇ̵̨̣̮͓͎͔̤̪̫ͪ͊̍ͩͣͦ̄ͮ̈́̈̑̄̄̎̽̓͆̅̀͢ ̍ͬ̀̄̾͞͏̸͚̘̗̞̠̱͕̦̯̙̠͚̼̭̞̟͍̻͉͞a̶͖̗̪͚ͨ̓́̿͊ͭͯ̆́̕̕͝ͅ ̸̖̺͎̿ͦͧ̈̉̇̾̕į̟̮͉̯͔̻̳̤̭̟̜̯̘̹̘̺̙̉̐͋͆̊̿̾ͩ̓͋̏̑ͤ̒̃̕ ̶̸̧̧̯̳̥̯̫̦͎̮̟̙̟͛̃̿̄l̸̨͐̒̓ͣ̀̓͒ͪ͑ͪ̉ͣͥ͌̚͝҉̛̝̞̺̠̜͙͙͙͉͍̤̟̞̠ ̶̄͆̄͊̋̀͛͗̉́̚҉̨̮̦̮̣͕͈̥͖̺͓ş̶̷̩̰͇̭͙̜͈̗̫̝̦͇͋ͣ̓͑ͅ--

  
  


_                         M̵̀͞o҉́͠m͘͝͞͞m͜͡͞͞a̷̧͢,̶̡͞͝ ͘͜͟͝҉g̴̕͟͜e̡͝ţ̕ ̨͝ų̸͠͏͞p̴͘҉.̷͢͠͝ ̧͏ _

  
  
  


**I͋̈͋ͣ̓͆̽ͪ̊̒ͬͫ͛̑̎̈́̀͏̵̛̯̠̝̜̟̳̭̮̰ ̷̵̖̰͕̣̤̾͋̋ͣ̓̍̆̓̚͟f̢̛̣̞͙͚̘͖̥̣̺̂͋́̏ͤ̐̃͐͋̊̂ͯ͊ͤͯử͇̗̲̟̪̪̮̺̖̯̗̱̼͍̼̆̎̅ͧ̈́̈͒͘͟͟c̴̺̥͕͗ͯ̇͒̓͑̾̂̓̂̄ͯ̂̎̐̀k̶̜̬̣͉̙̻̞̾̂ͮ͂̉ͮͥ͂ͨ̾ͬ̽͛̚͟͢i̴̟͕͔̠͖̱̼̓͛ͣͫ̑͛͆̾͛ͨ̚͞n̐̔̔̆͏͏̨̤̫̳̺̭̻̲̯͈̼̘͉̗̖̟̺̪ͅg̴̏̓̇̀ͪͣ̄ͥͣ̈ͫ̈́͏̲͎̦͙̪̗͙̖̮̘̜̼̬̩ͅ ̸̷̷̵̶̹͉̮̉̋̎̄͗ͪͦͦ̉̒̐ͫ̃̀̌̽ͧͅͅŝ̫͔͖̠̳̠̃̾̋̆̂̏̈̈ͩͪ͜͠a̷̵͍̩̲̙̭ͫ̊̓̽̇̐͑ͨ̑ͭ̀͂̂ͦ͟i̧̖̱̫̲̠͙͖̠̮̽ͩͣͫͥ̎̂́ͮͯ͑͗̀͘͢ḑ̴̢͈̤͈͍̳̜̤̞̝̣͈͕̄̽͆̊ͥͤ͗ͯ̈́ͥ͌ͭ̚͘ͅ,̧̧̧̢͕̣͚̰͉͔͚̉͐́͂͞ ̸̵̵̮̱̘̬̫̭̞͊͛̐̈ͧ͆ͧͧ͘G̸̿̽͑ͦ̓̋ͦ́͐͑͊̐̔̔ͦ͌͜҉̫̩͎̜Ę̈́ͯͩ̋̅́҉̡̗̼͔̗͖̺͚̫̣͇̰͍͈͉̺̱͙͉̝͡T̨̗̬̩̺̳̪͓͓͎̼̰ͮ̋̔̅̓̀ ̳̤͙̹̦̙ͩ̎̓̿̎͌͟͡U̶̡̨̱̭͉̺̹͓̖̙͓̬͙̙̘̓ͫ̆̀̚P̡͍͔͎̰̞͖̮͇̯͕̥͚̯̘͓͍̳̗͋̋ͯͨ̏̏͋͟͝.̸̢̢͙̣͔̭͙̣̘͕̘̤̝͍̫̼̖̃̽͛ͩ͌ͨ̀̕**

_ L̴͏̲̘͚o̺̝͕̠͕̹̞̼͘͟͝ǫ̞̫̲͕k̢͍̹̗͘͡ ̧͇͈̮̩̲̞̟ͅa̺̞͚̮͈̮͜t̬̝̺͡ ̷̝̬̟̰̭͘͞w̻̭͍h̴̜̦͈͉̟a̮͇̣̝͉͟͞ͅt̜͍̤͈͖͜͟ ̕͠͏̮̯̞̘͚y̝̝̮̺̝͚̠o̮̭͞ư̱͈̗͔͈͍͠͝'̶̯͇͙̜v̧̨̦e͖ ̨͇͇̲̱̰̘̟d̷̞̯́͘ǫ̣͔̖̪ǹ̫̹͍͟ȩ̶̛͇͖͚͕̟̲͉ͅ.͙̯͕̗͢ _

  
  
  


The sounds of the green soul quietly shuddering and retching into the corner of the hallway echoed through the cavern as the flashback assaulted her mind. During pauses, she would hold her breath to try to stop the crying, as though making herself dizzy would actually do something.

 

After a few minutes of catching her breath, she pushed a boulder with her free foot over the mess, and wiped her face with the inside of her shirt-- she had never been very hygienic herself despite her insistence for everyone else (Chris, mainly) to clean up.

  
  


In the midst of her self-loathing, the familiar smell of chocolate ghosted her senses and she looked over to a dimly lit cavern. Inside, she could hear the muffled motions of someone putting down the tray, but in the cavern where she had just come, a few pebbles rolled out of place, indicating she was no longer alone. The rational part of her knew that it was most likely Gaster or Toriel coming after hearing her, or another friendly monster, but her primal sense of fear warned her that whatever was there hadn’t come out yet because of ill intentions. She could run away and leave whatever this was to attack her thief, but...

 

What kind of animal would leave someone else to get hurt?

 

The freckled woman ran into the cavern. “Wait, you can't--”

 

Before coming face to face with…

 

Well, any description that would have been here would have been drowned out by two girls, human and monster, screaming their SOULs out in horror.

 

\----

 

In another part of the Ruins wept a grieving mother of two, her own miserable wailing drowning out any echoes of other occupants. It was common knowledge among the smaller Monsters to avoid everything past the two doors at the entrance. For those who didn’t know why this was, even the faintest trace of dust would be enough to scare them away.

 

After so many years, Toriel thought she had grown accustomed to the sight of her child’s grave, just slightly dusted with what little of her son she could hold in her paws. But it had been far longer since she had stopped speaking to the flowers like they could hear her, and the stress of it had proved too much. She composed herself again just long enough to speak,

 

“Chara, you’d especially be fond of her. She came from a terrible place, like you did. I know we never spoke of it, but I bathed you of course, I saw what they had done to you. I need you here, my child, she stopped grieving and has since gone into a state of what looks like complete denial of what happened. I...I don’t know how to fix that.” At that last sentence, she bit down on her lip before throwing her head into her dirt-stained paws. In the recesses of her memory, she remembered when Asriel had woken her, in hysterics because Chara had found the knife set. “Chara is making ouchies.” He repeated, even after Toriel had held him to her while…  _ that person  _ went over to coax the knife out of their little hand. She could never forget how hollow their expression was when they finally spoke. “I’m sorry.” It was all they would ever say about that night.

 

“How do I get her to realize how much she’s hurting herself by pretending that everything is alright, my child?” She feebly asked the flowers. But flowers cannot speak, and so she was left to ponder that question on her own.

 

\----

 

“Y-y-you’re--d-d-don’t kill me!” Two pairs of arms shielded the being’s head, while another set covered her rather large stomach. At the same time, our dear protagonist stood with her back to the wall, trembling almost violently. “Please don’t drink my blood, please please please!” She stammered out while the other being tried to stutter out her plea. The problem with having two easily startled people in one room is that it rather takes a while to de-escalate a situation like this because neither one is listening to the other. 

 

After a while of pathetic whimpering from both sides, Carmen spoke up again.

 

“Please don’t drink my blood.”

 

The monster lowered her four arms to completely cover her stomach, her multiple sets of eyes folding down into a glare. “Stop _ saying that _ ! Why would I drink your blood?!” She yelled. The freckled girl, equally confused, yelled back, 

“Because you’re a  _ spider! _ ”

 

“So?!”

 

“So! Spiders drink blood!”

 

“No! We don’t!” At that last outburst, her three sets of eyes turned down into a glare as her arms tightened around her stomach. “Aahhh ha…” She groaned, sitting down on a nearby rock. Carmen, bound by the well-grounded habits of politeness, took a step forward. “A-a-are you oka--” The spider woman cut her off with, “ **Of course not, you almost scared me out of a pregnancy!** ” She let out another groan before reaching behind the rock and pulling out a familiar crumbly object. 

 

“No, you can’t eat that, miss!” Carmen yelped, taking a step forward. The spider whipped her head around to face her, and that was more than enough to send her back up against the wall. “My  _ name _ \--” She said this as though ‘miss’ was some kind of insult, while pointing at Carmen with the muffin, “is  _ Ava _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waits for everyone to get the reference*


	8. UPDATE

I apologize to all subscribers to this story.

 

After deep consideration, I have decided to rewrite this story from a first-person perspective, and from the point where Carrie (who will remain an unnamed reader until final arc of the storyline) falls into the Underground. I feel that in showing the events leading to her arrival, I may have spoiled too much of the plot twists coming ahead, or may have made her seem too "Mary Sue"ish.

 

Thank you so much for your support over the last year. If you ever want to get in touch, my Instagram is @raven3lise.


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